


Resonance

by Namesonboats (Viken2592)



Series: A Murmuration Of Starlings [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: A Game of Tropes, Age Difference, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Assault, Canon Divergence, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Time, Literally hundreds of years, Post Blood and Wine, Romance, Slow Burn, mention of rape, not in the relationship though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-06 21:01:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 39,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12826005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viken2592/pseuds/Namesonboats
Summary: There were some significant “before and after” in her life. Before and after the death of her father. Before and after the birth of her sisters. Before and after the first accident. Before and after the separation from her family.She knew now there would be a before and after Dettlaff.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because there aren’t enough “girl falls in love with vampire”-stories in the world, right?
> 
> I loved the Blood and Wine-expansion to Witcher 3, and was moved by the story of Dettlaff van der Eretein. I felt he deserved a happy ending, why I decided to write this fic. 
> 
> The name of the female oc in this fic, Rennaugh, is a form of the Scandinavian name Rönnog/Rønnough. The e in Rennaugh is pronounced like the i in the English word “bird”. The au is pronounced like the o in “do”. The g is hard. [Rœ:nnu:g] 
> 
> This was my first attempt at a longer fic. It has not been beta'ed. I’m not a native English speaker/writer, my apologies for any language errors made!  
> ~

_Cintra city, year of 1280._

 

In her dreams,  Rennaugh’s  father would sometimes come to her. His hay-colored hair fell over his eyes just like she remembered it. He would softly caress her cheek with his knuckles, but as she moved closer to put her arms around his neck, there was nothing there. She fell through him as if he were made of dust.  

   

That is when she would usually wake up, gasping.   

   

It had been a long time since her father died.   

   

She remembered how he would tickle her, how he sung the lullaby of the three ships approaching the port of their homeland. She was the one that sang to her sisters now; the babies that came after her mother remarried.  Rennaugh  had been old enough to almost be considered capable to take care of herself then.   

   

Three more babies were been  born, all boys. None survived their first year.  

   

Her sisters were no babies anymore, they were eleven and nine years old, and she was now twenty, considered ready to marry and start a family herself. But she stayed, to help mother. To be close to her sisters.  

   

Their mother worked, nearly all the time. She took whatever employment she could get, cleaning, farming, helping in workshops, baking. Sometimes she could be gone for days, and come home exhausted, the dry skin on her hands cracking and bleeding, her thick, platinum braids falling in front of her face as she leaned forwards against the table in their small kitchen and cried. Rennaugh  handled almost all the work at their home, and would sometime accompany her mother to do day jobs if she could. Ever since she was twelve, she had been expected to contribute to the family purse. The purse   _he_   would often ransack.   

   

Then the accident happened, and they were forced to move from their home in the village and into the city.   _He_   did not let her forget how she had caused the family pain.  

   

 _He_ would often come home drunk, demanding to know where Rennaugh and her mother kept their meagre salaries. His breath would stink of beer and onion soup, which infuriated her, as it was a proof of how he made sure he ate, while her mother would sometimes starve so she and her sisters could have a meal.   

   

Rennaugh  hadn’t always hated her step-father. He had been a decent and hard-working man when her mother first met him. Although he never paid much attention to the  children who were born into his home, he was seldom cruel.   

   

Until he lost several of his fingers in an accident at the sawmill. As the injury prevented him to find other employment for a time, he was ridiculed by other men for letting his wife be the one to bring home food to the table. That’s when he started to hit her. He was always drunk, but at the beginning, he made sure the girls were outside.  Rennaugh  knew he didn’t have the courage to lay a hand on her mother otherwise. And to her bitter resentment and chagrin, she watched her strong, beautiful mother turn into a shadow of herself, frightened and anxious.   

   

One night, she overheard her step-father threaten her mother that if she ever left him, he would notify the guards that her eldest daughter was a freak. “You know what they do to creatures like her,” he’d hissed. “They burn them.”  

   

That is when she knew she should leave. To not endanger her loved ones anymore by her presence.  She didn't know the witch hunts had officially ended two years earlier. 

   

But she hadn’t been able to go. Where could she flee? What about her sisters? Her beautiful little sisters,  Aslaug and Ylja. She felt she couldn’t live without them. They all bore names from her mother’s home, the  Skellige  islands, a place that seemed almost as unreal to her as the elven stories of  Tir  na  Nog, the land of children.   

   

Then came the night of the second accident.   _He_   struck their mother, and this time he didn’t care the children were in the room. They cried, and he growled at them to shut up before he turned to their mother again, his non-mutilated fist raised in the air.   

   

Suddenly, his body flung to the wall as if lifted by an invisible hand. Arm outstretched in the air,  Rennaugh  cried out in fury, tears erupting from her eyes, only to freeze as she realized what she had done. Her eyes widened in panic.   

   

Everything went silent. Her mother looked at her with a fear in her eyes that cut like a knife in  Rennaugh’s  heart. Her sisters held each other, sobbing.   _He_  laid unconscious on the floor, limbs sprawled out, looking rather ridiculous. For a moment,  Rennaugh  fought an  absurd impulse to giggle.  

   

“You need to go,” her mother whispered, a trail of blood leaking from her nose. “Go. Go to  Kovir, I’ve heard they don’t hate what you are there… what you can do.” She grabbed  Rennaugh’s  shoulders, already shaking from sobs.   

   

“Take this,” her mother said, and presented her a satchel, “I’ve prepared this for you. Don’t cry, my darling. Listen to me, before he wakes up. Please, my sweetheart.” Her mother’s eyes glistened, her grip tight on  Rennaugh’s  shoulders. “Take a boat. It’s the fastest way to  Kovir. Ask for  Triss,  Triss  Merigold. She will help you, she…”  

   

Her mother was interrupted by a moan from the man on the floor, which made her push her daughter towards the entrance to the small apartment. Her sisters cried out.  Rennaugh  stifled a sob at the panic over her step-father’s stirring, and hastily turned to her sisters to give them a quick embrace.  

   

“I love you,” she sniffled and looked them in the eye.  Ylja, the youngest, started wailing.  

   

“Go!” Her mother enticed her for the last time, and  Rennaugh  didn’t take the time embrace her, she flung herself out from the apartment, a firm, sweaty grip on her satchel.  

   

She cried all the way to the docks.   

   

*

 

Triss Merigold’s green eyes fell on her white-haired partner as they rode through the landscape of Kovir, towards the capital. The mountains stretched over them, white and impressive, with specks of trees at their base.

 

She smiled. He must have sensed her gaze, because Geralt of Rivia, the witcher of the Wolf school and her lover, turned his yellow canine eyes to her and smiled back.

 

They had lived together in Kovir for five years now, after the defeat of the White Frost and Cirilla’s ascendance to the Nilfgaardian throne.

 

They lived in a spacious apartment near the palace, overlooking the bay and the mountains. As the magical advisor of the king, Triss enjoyed a particular influence in the city, as well as an ample salary. Recently, most of her time had been devoted to setting up a school of magi in the land, to harness the abilities of children showing signs of magical talent. The king had been reluctant at first, but finally accepted on the condition that the facilities of the school were set up in the mountains, away from the capital.

 

Geralt would take occasional witcher contracts, as well as helping her administer and preparing the school, but most of his time was spent organizing Gwent tournaments. He did it enough to almost call it an occupation. The popularity of the card game soared since his arrival and players as far as from Skellige and Nilfgaard would sometimes join, even as the political situation between the nations were still somewhat strained after the war.

 

It was a good life.

 

They often had visitors, Dandelion and Priscilla, Zoltan and other old friends, taking the sea route to their home and enjoying the life in the Kovir capital. Yennefer remained distant however, and although Triss was happy Geralt had chosen her over the raven-haired sorceress, she could still sometimes feel a sting of guilty conscience. As if she had stolen him.

 

She knew Geralt would always love Yen. But after she had persuaded the Djinn to disrupt the magical bond between them, Geralt had not felt the same. He was jaded of the drama of their relationship, the constant fighting and on and offs. Triss and him shared a love more solid.

 

Suddenly, the gentle clip-clop of their horse’s hooves against the packed earth of the road was interrupted by agitated shouting. Geralt lifted his head, their horses felt the change in their moods, and stiffened their necks. His wolf medallion tingled.

 

Interchanging a questioning glance, they broke in to a canter, towards the ruffled sounds.

 

Near a patch of thick bushes, a young woman broke free from three men by pushing them away from her in a violent release of energy that had them staggering backwards.

 

“Bandits,” Geralt said in his throaty voice. He had already unsheathed his iron sword.

 

The woman, or girl; as she seemed to be in her late teens, was in a sorry state. Her simple cotton dress was specked with patches of dirt, and her west was torn. She had thick, hay-colored braids that had come undone, and she was bruised, as if someone had beat her. In one arm, she held a bundle of dirty cloth.

 

“Witch!” one of the men attacking her yelled. Then he discovered the two newcomers approaching them. As if realizing he was in trouble, the man looked at Geralt and Triss, then at the girl. He pointed a dirty hand and shouted, “she’s a witch!” The other men halted and stared at the couple on their horses in confusion. They looked like they were contemplating running away.

 

“Is that why you think you have a right to attack her?” Geralt threatened, “or are you really just bandits, wanting a bit of whatever she’s holding in her hand?” He had dismounted his horse, and was already in battle stance, his sword held out from his body.

 

The girl stood as if she had been struck by lightning, watching them with wide open eyes and heaving chest.

 

Triss jumped from her horse. “By royal decree, you are forbidden to harm any magic wielder within the borders of Kovir!” her voice was raised and hard like stone. She was furious. The tolerance towards mages was larger in Kovir than in any other nation of the Northern kingdoms, but outside the capital, fear and superstition sometimes took hold, and she wondered if she’d ever see a world where mages were not hated.

 

“You’re one of them,” the man who had spoken before hissed, his eyes turning to slits, “you’re one of those freaks! Just because you’ve been fucking the king doesn’t mean that the people accept you…”

 

“I would not speak to the lady in that way if I were you.” Geralt’s voice was hard enough to shatter a mountain.

 

Then, to everyone’s surprise, one of the bandits hurled a knife at the girl.

 

Triss gasped.

 

The girl raised an arm in the air, and Triss’ eyes widened as the velocity of knife slowed down in midair. Had she not seen the men being hurled back by an invisible hand earlier? But the girl was too exhausted. Although the blade had de-accelerated, it still hit her head with a thud, and bleeding from the wound it caused, she sank to the ground.

 

That was all Geralt needed. With a few elegant swings of his sword, he cut down two of the men, and using igni, he set the last man aflame. The bandit screamed as the magical flames scorched his skin, but the shrieks were abruptly silenced as Geralt cut his head off.

 

Triss ran up to the girl and kneeled to stroke the tests of bloodied, blonde hair from her forehead. The contents of the bundle she had clutched in her hands were splayed on the ground next to her; a piece of bread, cheese, and a few coppers, not even enough to buy a proper meal.

 

“Geralt, I think the knife was poisoned.”

 

Re-sheathing his sword, Geralt came up to them. His worried frown told her she was probably right.

 

“We have to get her to the capital, and fast.” Triss hurried to get their horses, as Geralt lifted the girl up in his arms. Her blood stained the green patches of cloth on his griffin school armor.

 

*

 

Back at the apartment in Lan Exeter, the girl was in a feverish state of in- and out of consciousness, as her body fought against the poison of the thief’s blade. The wound on her head was easily healed, it took but a few stiches, but the effects from the poison was worse. Triss and Geralt tried to nurse her as best as they could. Geralt knew of some antidotes to poison, but they were designed for witchers, and he was afraid it would kill her or drive her mad if he gave them to her.

 

“Triss”, Geralt urged his lover two days after they had found the girl, “I think we might be losing her.”

 

He placed his gaze on the face of the young woman who was for the moment sleeping. Her complexion pale, almost ivory, beads of sweat gathered on her temple despite the cool climate. Her pulse was alarmingly slow, and her veins too blue against her pale skin. During the short moments she opened her eyes, she was delirious, and her eyes would soon roll back into her head.

 

Triss shook her head, stirring the strands of red locks that escaped her buns.

 

“There’s got to be something we can do.” She ached for this girl she didn’t know.

 

Geralt inhaled as to speak, but hesitated for a moment. Then he made up his mind.

 

“There might be someone… a friend of mine. He might be able to help.”

 

Triss looked up at Geralt, a worried knot between her eyebrows.

 

“I think I know whom you’re speaking of. Call for him.”

 

Geralt nodded, and walked out of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

It was nightfall when Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy entered the city gates by foot. He was a man in his early sixties, with black eyes, grey hair in a receding hairline and formidable, grey sideburns. His height was above the average, and he had a slim figure. Everything about him, from his crooked nose to his elegant clothing of a fine leather jacket, even his pouch fastened around his torso with a leather string, spoke of a refined person.

 

He looked around himself and found the capital of Kovir to be quite alluring, with the surrounding mountains and the glittering waters of the bay. Nothing like the splendour of Beauclair, however. He missed that city.

 

He found his way to the place described in Geralt’s letter by taking the street towards the city palace, walking past the chantry and an inn called The friar’s ears. People were passing him by, town folk of different kinds that are found in most cities; rich ladies and their servants, travellers like himself, young couples, the occasional drunk. A prostitute whispered some suggestions in his ear as he passed her.

 

Geralt met him at the doorway of his house as if he’d known exactly when Regis would appear. It had only been around twenty-four hours since Regis had received Geralt’s letter, and although he was no mage, he had his own way of fast travelling that did not include portals.

 

“Regis,” Geralt greeted him and shook his hand.

 

“Geralt, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” For a moment, the two men shared an appreciative smile as their hands interlocked. They had been friends for a long time, and had experienced quite the number of adventures together.

 

“How have you been, my friend?” Geralt asked.

 

Regis placed his hands on the leather string of his pouch in his characteristic gesture. “There will be time for small talk later. Now, you must take me to her.”

 

*

 

Upon entering the room, Regis greeted Triss with a kiss on the cheeks, before turning to the young woman on the bed.

 

He could see he needed to act fast. Her eyes had strands of purple under them, and her complexion was very pale. The thick, blonde hair of the young woman laid lifeless and plastered against her sweaty forehead. Her face had regular and quite handsome features, with feathery eyebrows several tones darker than her hair, high cheekbones and a straight nose, as well as lips with a sharp, elegant cupid’s bow. Her thick, dark eyelashes cast shadows on her cheeks. She showed signs of malnutrition; hollow cheeks, dry skin, accentuated collarbones.

 

He placed a hand on her forehead to open her eyelids. Her cerulean eyes were rolled into the back of her head. He continued to open her mouth, and looked at good teeth but a tongue with a thick layer of something pale. 

 

He leaned forward to smell her temple.

 

Triss cast a questioning glance at Geralt, who slightly raised his shoulders in a gesture that meant he had no idea what Regis was doing either.

 

“Geralt,” Regis said without taking his eyes of the girl, “I think I know what to do to take the poison out of her. But I will need something from you, Triss.” He turned his eyes on the red-haired sorceress.

 

“From me?” she asked in surprise.

 

“Do not worry, I will only require a minor thing.” Regis smiled shortly. “I’ll need a strand of your hair, pulled from the root.”

 

Triss looked at him, puzzled. Then she nodded, and lifted her hand to tug at the red locks on her head while gritting her teeth. Several strands fell off.

 

She handed them to Regis.

 

“Thank you, Triss. Now Geralt, you have an alchemy table here somewhere, I hope?”

 

*

 

“She’s fighting like anyone I’ve ever seen. She should be dead, but she’s holding on.”

 

Regis and Triss stood next to the bed where the girl lay. It was morning the next day, and the warm rays of the rising sun shone through the windowpanes of their apartment.

 

“I’m glad you came when you did,” Triss declared.

 

“I was glad to help.”

 

Triss turned her eyes to the grey-haired man. “Tell me, what was the hair for?”

 

He raised an eyebrow and smiled. Regis quite enjoyed talking about his alchemical skills, and took immense pride in his vast knowledge on the different usages of herbs.

 

“I needed a living ingredient, that was healthy,” he said. “Mixed with the right herbs and oils, it constitutes the force that can fight the sick parts in her, affected by the poison. A hair with the root from a sorceress is a powerful thing, otherwise it can be something else, like…”

 

She looked at him and held out a hand. “I’m not sure I want to know, Regis.”

 

Suddenly, the girl started stirring. The couple by the bed quickly turned their heads to her as she moaned. Triss walked up to the bed and sat next to her.

 

The eyelids of the young woman fluttered as she tried to focus her gaze. As she came more to life, her eyes fastened on something red beside her. It was the hair of a woman.

 

“You,” the girl croaked, “you were there. You helped me.”

 

Triss felt a huge stone fall from her chest at the sight of the girl making her first contact since that day on the capital road. She placed her hand on the girl’s arm. “I was. My name is Triss.” She turned to Regis. “This man is Emiel Regis, and he helped you recover after a nasty wound to your head…”

 

The girl’s eyes shot open. She tried to sit herself up better.

 

“You’re Triss? Triss Merigold?” She gasped. Tears started to dim her eyes. “Oh thank the gods!”

 

Triss’ eyes widened in surprise.

 

“My mother…” the girl tried to explain with her hoarse voice, “she told me to find you…”

 

She was too fatigued to say anything else. She collapsed on the pillow, a heavy sigh escaped her lips she closed her eyes again.

 

Regis walked up to the two women, and placed a hand on the girl’s forehead to determine whether the fever had gone up again. “You need to rest, dear girl,” he asserted. “You are exhausted. We will have plenty of time to talk about why you have come here later.”

 

Triss only managed to get the young woman to take a small sip water before she fell asleep again.

 

*

 

Rennaugh woke up a few hours later, feeling better, although she was dizzy and had a terrible headache. Her muscles didn’t respond immediately to her commands, but Regis assured her it was a normal side effect of the potion. He estimated she would be up on her feet already the next day.

 

Rennaugh met Geralt, and thanked him warmly for the kindness he had shown her when she was attacked by the bandits on her way to the capital. As they could see she was tired, the two men left her and Triss on their own and took a short stroll to the Friar’s ears to have a drink and reminisce about old times.

 

Triss later joined them, after making sure their guest was fast asleep again. There, she recounted what Rennaugh had told her about her journey to Kovir, and why her mother had sent her away to try and find her.

 

“It seems she didn’t have enough money for a boat to take her all the way from Cintra to Kovir.” Triss took a sip of her wine before continuing. “But she managed to get some kind soul to take her as far as the northern tip of the Arc coast, at least. From there, she continued on foot.”

 

“Still a long journey to make for a lone young woman,” Geralt stated.

 

The inn was warm, and the smell of thyme and steak filled the room. A fire crackled and several candles fastened in empty wine bottles stood on the tables, serving as light together with scattered lanterns on the walls. A bard played the lute in the other end of the large room, and occasional cheers and applauses was heard in appreciation of her songs.

 

“Tell me more of her abilities,” Regis implored.

 

“I could’ve sworn she was using the Aard sign,” Geralt replied, “but she is no witcher. And that thing she did with the knife… that was something else.” He looked at Triss.

 

“It would seem she is a mage,” Triss filled in, “but with very unusual powers.” She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear as she continued. “Apparently, she can make objects disobey the laws of gravity, and she has had these powers as long as she can remember.”

 

“Keira uses levitation spells.” Geralt commented.

 

”Yes,” Triss replied, ”but the girl doesn’t use spells. That’s the difference. I’m not sure how she does it.” She slowly shook her head as she lamented the girl’s story. “She told me she had stopped her step-father from abusing her mother by using her powers, and that her mother had implored her to flee and try to seek me out. Perhaps she heard my name during the mage uprisings and our escape from Novigrad five years ago…”

 

Geralt placed his hand on her lower back. It had been in the process of evacuating the mages that he’d realized he didn’t want to lose her. That he loved her. She smiled at him and placed a hand on his. She looked both men in the eye.

 

“She could really use some training, to fully explore the extents to her power, and how to control it. Such a power can be dangerous, to herself and to others. Tomorrow, I will contact the lodge, to see if they have heard of any mage with such abilities.”

 

“How about your school of magic?” Regis suggested.

 

“She is too old for those kinds of teachings, I’m afraid,” Triss replied. “It is a school for children, who have just gotten into their powers. This girl needs more adequate guidance, and I’m afraid I can’t give her that. Even if I didn’t have my position as magical advisor and the preparations of the school of magi, I’m not even sure I understand what it is she can do.”

 

Geralt was silent for a moment. He had an idea. He leaned forward, his arm on the table, and spoke.

 

“That girl might need guidance, but she also needs some rest. If I’ve understood it correctly, she’s from a poor family in Cintra, and girls from poor families work hard. She looks like she hasn’t had a proper meal in years. Add an asshole step-father, and her need to hide her abilities her whole life, I bet you that girl needs to relax for a while.”

 

His friend and his lover both looked at him in surprise.

 

“How about we take her to Touissant? He suggested. “She can spend the next few weeks there to recover her strength, and in the meantime, we can come up with a plan for her training, or whatever you call it.” He was speaking to Triss, who beamed at him. “Triss, I know you have a lot to do, but when summer comes, you need a vacation too. No, no protests,” he added as she opened her mouth.

 

Regis smiled, seemingly proud of the compassion of his friend. “I think that is an excellent idea, Geralt.”

 

Geralt looked at the grey-haired man with a crooked smile. “How about you accompany her there, and she became your protégé?”

 

Regis choked on his glass of red wine.

 

“Me?” he spurted.

 

Geralt laughed. “Yeah, you. Why don’t you teach her some herbalism, some of your alchemy skills? I know you want to return to Touissant. You can stay at Corvo Bianco until Triss and I arrive in about six weeks’ time.”

 

Triss laughed at the idea, as well as the expression of utter surprise in the otherwise so dignified face of the older man. Geralt equally found his friends confusion quite entertaining, and smiled as he put his arm around his lover’s shoulders. 

 

Emiel Regis sat completely still as he contemplated the idea.

 

“I’ll need to think about this…” was all he could say.

 

“You do that,” Geralt concluded as he rose from the table. Triss followed suit. “Take a couple of days here to see that she gets better, and if she agrees to the idea, tell me by the end of the week.”

 

The couple bade Regis goodbye. He sat for a moment, staring into the fireplace. Then he rose to take the stairs up to the room Triss had reserved for him at the inn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about a certain vampire still being missing so far! I needed to work out the story of my oc a little more first. I promise he will make an apperance in the next chapter. 
> 
> Unless you guys haven't noticed it yet, I'm a huge fan of Regis. I've been looking forward to writing him.
> 
> I've noticed the formatting turns out all wrong when reading from the phone. I'll try to do my best to keep an eye on it, but apologies in advance.
> 
> Update: had I read the books when I wrote this fic, I'd been aware that Lan Exter basically is the Venice of the Northern Kingdoms. It has canals instead of streets. Oops. 
> 
> Can't wait to share another chapter in a few days!
> 
> ~


	3. Chapter 3

During the next few days, Rennaugh regained some of her strengths under the supervision of Regis, and to some extent Triss, who regrettably had to devote much of her time during the days to the court and her advisor duties.

 

Regis found himself to quite enjoy the company of the young woman during the hours she was fully awake. She was humbled and nearly shameful from all the attention that was given her, and would look at him as if he was the most refined person she’d ever met. Regis was of a very kind nature, but he also had quite the amount of pride, and enjoyed being the object of admiration.

 

Three days after his arrival, he spoke to her about their plan. She had taken a bath, and looked better than ever since she came to the care of him and his friends. Her hair was still rather lifeless, the purple under her eyes still visible, but she showed clear signs of recovering. She ate a sandwich, as it was lunchtime, and stopped in the middle of a bite as he spoke to her about going to Touissant and become his apprentice.

 

She nearly dropped her sandwich into her lap.

 

This was something she never could have imagined. She had planned to find some kind of employment in Kovir, to repay the debt to her newfound friends. But this? The offer was too generous, too kind.

 

She bit her lip. She had always wanted to learn medical skills. This man, Emiel Regis, seemed to have more knowledge of the matter than anyone she’d ever met. She thought of her mother. She had no education, and lived nearly like a slave. Always in the hands of others, always having to accept the lowest salary…

 

“I’d love to go,” she nearly swallowed her last word as her throat seemed to grow thick.

 

A few hours later, Regis spoke to Geralt and Triss in their parlour.

 

“I accept your proposal to bring Rennaugh to Touissant. I will take her as my apprentice. She seems to be of a sharp mind and has a good-hearted nature. Plus, there are worse ways to spend one’s time than in the company of a young woman.”

 

Triss raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“But on one condition,” Regis continued and held up his index finger. “Let me at least try to explore her powers, if she’ll accept it. I find myself quite fascinated by the type of abilities she seems to have.”

 

Triss and Geralt exchanged a look. He raised his shoulders.

 

“Just be careful, Regis,” Triss warned. “The other sorceresses in the lodge had never heard of any magical powers like hers. Philippa and Keira raised doubts about her even being a mage, as she doesn't use any kind of spellcasting.”

 

“I promise,” Regis simply replied and nodded shortly.

 

“It’s settled then.” Geralt said and folded his arms. “You take her to Corvo Bianco. I’ll send a letter to Barnabus-Basil to let him prepare the guest rooms. It should arrive within a few days.”

 

When Triss left the room, Geralt placed his hand on Regis’ arm and stopped him for a moment. “Are you sure he’s not there anymore?” He spoke silently to ensure Triss would not hear them.

 

“Yes,” Regis replied in an equally low voice, “I have not seen him in about a year. I do know where he is though, and it is not Touissant.”

 

“Good,” Geralt continued, “I don’t want her to meet him. I regret what happened to him, but he is still a killer. Remember, he was ready to let everyone in Beauclair bleed because of one woman’s deceit.”

 

Visibly pensive, Regis nodded.

 

*

 

A few days later, Rennaugh was almost completely recovered. Her complexion had regained its colour and she felt as if she’s never had as much energy in her whole life. Triss explained with a warm smile that it might had to do with her getting three good meals per day.

 

She gave her young guest some of her old clothes. The girl was slightly taller than her, however, so Triss ordered a couple of new breeches for her. Geralt discarded her old, tattered leather shoes, and bought her a new pair. They were the most beautiful boots she had ever seen. 

 

“I can’t accept this,” she breathed, overwhelmed by all the generosity given her. She had never owned anything as valuable as the items given to her by her rescuers.

 

“Please do, Rennaugh,” Triss insisted. They were standing in the main area of the apartment, a large parlour lit up by the sun shining through coloured windowpanes. “We care about you and don’t want you to run around in tattered clothes. Besides, how are you going to be an alchemy apprentice if you don’t have shoes to walk in?”

 

"Think of it like this," Geralt filled in, "these gifts will encourage you to be a good apprentice. Learn and work hard, and when you're ready, you can repay us from the income you'll be able to make from your knowledge."

 

Rennaugh nodded, and threw her arms around Triss. She knew she would never forget the kindness and generosity these people had shown her. She felt like her heart was going to cave in from so many different emotions; gratitude, relief, excitement for what was going to come.

 

She realized she had not felt anticipation for the future since she was a child. The thought nearly brought tears to her eyes. She tried actively not to think of her mother and sisters now, lest she start to bawl.

 

“Thank you all so much!” the words were not enough, they would never be, but she meant it from the bottom of her heart.

 

“You’re welcome. Now, are you ready?” Triss asked.

 

Rennaugh felt a jolt of nervousness roll in her stomach. She had been informed about portals by the sorceress, but she didn’t know what to expect. She swallowed and nervously tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

 

Triss made a gesture with her hand, and with a roaring sound, a tear in the very fabric of the air appeared. Its edges sizzled with an orange light, which reflected in the face of Rennaugh. She felt the hair on her arms stand up.

 

“Ugh,” she heard Geralt mutter from behind her, “I hate portals.” Triss gave him a slightly irritated look as to implore him to not scare their guest.

 

“Remember,” Regis told Rennaugh, “You should arrive just outside the estate entrance. The majordomo and Marlene are expecting you. I will arrive in about a day to join you there.”

 

“Why can’t you come with me?” she asked, although he had already explained to her. She hated her childish tone, but her fear of this unknown made her feel small.

 

Regis shook his head. “As I’ve told you, portals are not... for me. But I have other means to fast travel and will meet you in Touissant shortly, tomorrow the latest.”

 

She wanted to ask him more, but could see he was not in the mood to answer any more of her questions. 

 

“Now,” Triss encouraged her slowly, “It sometimes helps to hold your breath and think happy thoughts. Are you ready? On the count of three…”

 

She breathed a last “goodbye”, and on three, she closed her eyes and jumped into the portal.

 

Merely a few moments later, she landed with an inelegant thud on the court yard of Geralt’s estate in Touissant, Corvo Bianco, her head spinning. She felt like she was going to vomit.

 

Squinting towards the rays of the sun, she noticed a bald man in round glasses, white cleric’s collar and a green shirt approach her. “Miss Rennaugh, I presume?” he said, “My name is Barnabus-Basil Foulty, the majordomo of this estate. May I show her to her quarters?”

 

She nodded, and the spectacled man let out a hand to raise her to her feet. She let her eyes graze over the unfamiliar surroundings. Corvo Bianco was a not a large estate, but delightful in its modesty. Built by white granite and oak tree, the villa loomed over a small creek. A courtyard lined with juniper bushes faced its main entrance. To the estate came a wine yard, a wine cellar, stables, and a lush herb garden.

 

Rennaugh gaped at it all. It was beautiful.

 

At the entrance stood a grey-haired woman with smiling eyes, about sixty years of age. “Welcome, dear,” she warmly greeted her, “my name is Marlene. I’ve been looking forward to your arrival!”

 

Rennuagh greeted her back in the politest way she could. She still couldn’t believe all of this was real.

 

*

 

The next evening, Regis arrived, and without further ado, he commenced in teaching her some of the basics of alchemy and herbalism.

 

He started by taking her to the estate’s own herb garden. After teaching her the uses of the most common herbs, he took her out on excursions in the Sansretour valley. He showed her common locations for various kinds of herbs, the easiest growing by the side of the road, the trickier ones underwater, in abandoned buildings, ruins or caves. He spoke to her of their use and the alchemical formulas to prepare them in different tonics, concoctions and salves, as well as the different animal and monster extracts needed in some of them.

  

She tried to listen carefully, paying his words full attention. He would examine her from time to time, and patiently remind her of the formulas she struggled to remember. She proved to be a fast learner though, and showed some skill in herbalism as she had learned from preparing meals for her sisters and tending for their smaller ailments such as scrapes and fevers.

  

On a particular day, about three weeks after their arrival to Corvo Bianco, he took her to a small forest. Clusters of trees were infrequent in the field-dominated landscape of Touissant, but this was not too far away from the Sansretour valley. Birdsong filled the air as the swallows flew high. They were yet to speak of, or in any way test her abilities, but she was so used to hiding that side of her she’d forgotten about it.

 

“Ah, and here we have a very important little flower,” Regis said as he bent down to pick a tiny, bell-shaped pink flower that grew near the base of a large oak tree. “Here, they call them ‘cloches-jumelles’ as they always bloom in pair.”

 

“What are its uses, master?” Rennaugh asked curiously. Before becoming his apprentice, she wouldn’t have thought such an insignificant flower could be important besides being pretty.

  

“Please, it really is time you started calling me Regis.”, he said with a short smile. Turning his eyes on the flower again, he continued.

  

“You see, mixed with bear fat and ashes from the birch tree, this little flower can stop a woman’s bleeding and prevent her from becoming pregnant.” Regis’ face had a serious expression. “This is why the formula is banned in many lands by the chantry. In some regions, the act of speaking of it alone can grant you the death penalty.”

 

Her blush, which had started at his utterance of the bleeding, deepened from her indignation at his continuing words.

 

“Why?” she whispered through gritted teeth, “why is this kind of knowledge kept from people? So many women die in childbirth. Many families are so poor, they cannot provide for all the children that are born into their homes…”

 

Her fists clenched as the thought of her mother, giving birth to five children in ten years, her body weakening and hurt, her energy spent. She thought of her little brothers, who all died before they had reached seven months old, of her mother’s tears and her own chagrin. There had been a way to let her mother have children as she whished it and not only as a result of her stepfathers urges…

 

The serious expression on Regis’ face remained. “Because knowledge is power, Rennaugh.” He looked her in the eye. “It does not apply to sorceresses, however, as they are known to be infertile.”

 

She  stared  at him with eyes wide. All her life, she had felt she existed solely for others. Mostly, she had tried to survive the day, unable to imagine a future for herself. But there had always been one thing she’d had power over: her body. It was the only thing that had been hers. Now, she felt as she’d gained a future but lost that one possession.

 

“Are you saying I’m never going to have children?” she asked. Her voice was steady but low.

 

“I’m sorry, I did not mean to upset you,” Regis assured her, “we don’t know for sure yet that you are a sorceress. But regarding the potion, it is important that you know. Some of what I share with you can be of great help to people, but it is potentially dangerous as some believe that certain types of knowledge should not be a benefit for all.”

 

She nodded. “I understand.”  

 

  

On their way back to the estate, upon leaving the forest, Regis looked down and called to her. “Rennaugh, look. Do you know what this is?”

 

She came up to his side and saw him pointing towards two plump, brown-capped mushrooms. “Yes,” she smiled, “those are penny buns! My sisters love them. They come so early here! How do you use them?”

 

Regis carefully picked the mushrooms from the ground, brushed a few leaves from them and turned to her smilingly. “For medical purposes, I do not know. But they are delicious, especially when dried. Let’s take them with us, shall we?”

 

He handed them over to her, and she cast a wide smile at him. She felt in her heart a deep gratitude for having been introduced to this gentle, kind man.

 

Continuing his lessons as the walked, Regis told her how mushrooms weren’t in fact, strictly plants; when suddenly, he stopped silent. He lifted his head as if listening to something she could not hear.

 

“Regis?” Rennaugh asked worringly, “is there something…”

 

She didn’t finish her sentence. She felt it too. A strange coldness crept up from the ground as a cool mist started to gather around them. As the mist thickened, it somehow changed colour, to a crimson tone bright like the sky when the sun set after a warm day.

 

Rennaugh felt her heart freeze in fear. She dropped the mushrooms to the ground.

 

Regis placed his hand on the leather strap of his bag. His expression was calm. “Dettlaff,” he merely stated.

 

As if summoned, the crimson mist materialized into a man, about forty years of age, dressed in a dark leather coat with elegant shoulder paddings and a golden pin shaped like a moth fastened to his right shoulder. A brown leather belt crossed his chest and fastened his coat by the waist. She couldn’t see it, but behind his back, the belt fastened to a sheathed dagger. Underneath his coat, a blood-red tunic of exquisite cloth was discernible, but besides that, everything about the man was dark. He wore black leather pants, black boots and fingerless gloves.  His hair was raven-black with grey stands at his temples.

 

Rennaugh felt like her feet were made of stone, fastened to the ground. She couldn’t move, although her whole being screamed for her to run.

 

“It is unwise of you to return, Dettlaff,” Regis spoke, and there was a tone in his voice, as if being concerned. As if he cared about the man in front of him.

 

“I know Regis,” the younger man replied, “I wouldn’t have come if it weren’t for a good reason…”

 

He placed his gaze on Rennaugh with a scowl. “Who is she?” he asked, his voice turning an octave lower.

 

Regis’ eyes never left the raven-haired man. “Her name is Rennaugh and she has been placed in my care by Geralt of Rivia.”  

 

Rennaugh’s feet started to obey her will. She took a few steps backwards.

 

“Do not worry, my dear,” Regis assured her, “this man will not hurt you. He is an old friend of mine."

 

Her eyes darted from the grey-haired man to the creature he called Dettlaff. Although she wanted to trust Regis’ words, the presence of the other felt nothing but threatening.

 

“Go back to the estate. I will come back later tonight.” Regis uttered the words with a short, reassuring nod.

 

She nodded back before turning her back at the two men, her heart pounding loudly against her ribs.

 

* 

  

Back at Corvo Bianco, Barnabus-Basil raised an eyebrow at the absence of Regis, but did not ask about it. He simply greeted Rennaugh politely as usual, taking care of her cape.

 

Marlene had prepared a savory fish chowder that they enjoyed together, but Rennaugh found herself unable to concentrate on their conversation. She frequently cast glances towards the entrance of the house.

 

She was so worried she couldn’t even smile at the inexplicable painting of a naked Geralt on a horse that hung on the wall, just discernable from where she sat. Barnabus-Basil had merely explained the master himself could tell her the story of the painting if he wished.

 

“My dear girl,” Marlene finally said with a raised eyebrow, “there is no need to worry about Regis. He is well capable of taking care of himself.”

 

Rennaugh murmured something into her soup, blushing. She didn’t tell the cook about the man they had encountered in the forest, as she didn’t wish to upset her.

 

Suddenly, the muffled sound of voices reached them from the parlour, revealing the return of Regis. Rennaugh sprung to her feet. He was welcomed back by the majordomo, already on his way back to his own quarters. The grey-haired man turned to her.

 

 “I’m glad to see you found your way back safe, my dear. I did not wish to leave you, but it was important that I spoke to my friend alone.” He lifted his hand as she opened her mouth.

  

“You need not worry; he poses no threat to me. But I think it is proper that I tell you about Dettlaff now that you have met. Shall we bring a bottle of the Sepremento, perhaps, and sit down in the library?”  

 

Rennaugh nodded. Her heart was filled with relief that the was safe. Marlene approached them. “Welcome back, Regis. There is soup in the kitchen if you are hungry.”

 

He merely shook his head and thanked the cook, ushering his young apprentice towards the western wing and the library. “I’m afraid,” he said to her, “that this is a rather long story.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, he has arrived!
> 
> I think about three things when writing Dettlaff: compassion, passion and pain. I want him to evolve throughout this story, hopefully without writing him totally out of character. 
> 
> In the next chapter, there will be more action regarding her abilities. What is she exactly?
> 
> I'm very much in the process of writing, but estimate that this fic will be around 13-15 chapters.
> 
> If any fans of Dettlaff haven't read [ this awesome fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11201973/chapters/25018890) yet, I really recommend it.
> 
> Again, sorry about the formatting turning out wrong. I'll keep an eye out to change it as best as I can.


	4. Chapter 4

Regis asked her not to interrupt him during his recitation of the happenings in Touissant merely five years before. She doubted she could have ever found the right words to comment on the near unbelievability of such a story, and realized she gaped like a fool.

 

The beast of Beauclair, the vampire named Dettlaff and Regis’ friend, had been the lover of the duchess’ sister. She, pretending to be someone else, staged a kidnapping to have her lover blackmailed into killing those who exiled her as a child due to a superstition regarding her birth.   

  

Dettlaff, killing his lover as he found out about her lies, had been let go by Geralt in an act of compassion. The duchess, never being able to reunite with her long-lost sister, had in her anger imprisoned Geralt, but with the help of his friend Dandelion, he was later released. Although Geralt had fallen from the duchess' graces, he had been allowed to keep his estate.

 

”Regis,” she finally said as she surmised his retelling had come to an end, “this is a very painful story."

  

”Yes”, he said with a sigh, “with only victims if you ask me. Sylvia Anna was the victim of a ridiculous superstition, and Dettlaff was the victim of her need for revenge. So, you see, there is a reason he despises the human world. He loved, truly and deeply, only to be deceived and lied to. He is not an evil man, only impulsive, and passionate. For him, it was more than a broken heart. He lost his trust not only in one woman but in the entirety of the human race."

 

“But we are not all the same,” she protested.

 

“A good point, one that I’m afraid is wasted on him at this time,” Regis answered.

 

“But there is you,” she continued, “you’re his friend. That means he cannot possibly hate all men.”

 

Regis looked at her, and shifted on his seat as to brace himself for what he was about to say.   

 

“Ah, my dear,” he said, finishing the last drops of his glass of Sepremento, “that is the reason we need to have another revelation tonight. One that I hope will not adventure our friendship."  He looked at her, his kind, dark eyes never faltering. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion.

  

“You see, I am a vampire too.”

  

The taste in her mouth turned metallic. Her body wanted to sprint from her chair, to run. Trembling, she forced herself to sit still. “What does this mean, Regis?" she whispered in an attempt to keep her emotions from overflowing.

 

Ever slightly smiling, the vampire tilted his head in an affectionate gesture. “Oh, it means many things. I means I am of many more years than I look. It means I cannot die. It means I have other forms that I can take, but this is my preferred. But for you? I assure you, it means very little.”

 

“Why didn’t Geralt tell me?” her lips trembled. She felt utter shock. She realized she also felt grief. During her life, she had feared many men, but never Regis. To her, he was one of the kindest, most respectable men she had ever met. She wished not to fear him, not him.

 

“We agreed not to tell you. I realize now we should have been honest with you from the start. We simply felt it was not in your best interest to know regarding the state you were in when we first met. I apologize.”  

 

She suddenly realized his teeth were unusually pointed, his hands large and claw-like. Why hadn’t she seen this before?  

 

“Do you kill humans?” she couldn’t help herself from asking, “I’ve heard…”

 

“You have probably heard a lot of things about vampires,” he interrupted her, “of which most will be untrue. Higher vampires are nothing like creatures such as ekimmaras or katakans. We do not need to drink human blood to survive, for example. Believe me when I say that I would never hurt you.”

 

“And this… Dettlaff?”

 

A shadow of pain flew over Regis’ face. “He has killed men, under the delusion that he was doing it to save his lover. Then he killed her, in anger and despair. He did not take pleasure in it, this I assure you.”

  

“Where is he now?” she asked.  

 

“There is a… place. Near the Mère-Lachaiselounge cemetery, where I used to spend much time as the whole story with the beast of Beauclair unfolded. I will show it to you. He will be there. In fact, I will go there tomorrow. Dettlaff has come to seek my aid, you see.”

 

He opened his mouth as if to continue, but hesitated. Then he seemed to make a decision in his mind.

 

He asked her if she would like to accompany him there.

 

“Me?” she said in surprise. She remembered the dark look in the dark-haired man's face as his eyes narrowed at her.

 

“Yes,” Regis assured her, “I believe we have only begun to explore the depths of your powers, and Dettlaff might be able to help with the issue of what you can to. But that is for tomorrow.” He rose to his feet, and she followed suit. “Tonight, my dear; rest, and we shall speak more tomorrow. I suspect today has been very long for you.”

 

*

  

During breakfast the next morning, Regis inquired her about her new knowledge of the medicinal uses of common herbs, until she willed herself to ask him about the trip to the crypt. She didn’t fear him for being a vampire now. She’d come to the conclusion that what mattered was his kindness, not his form, or race.

 

“Regis, are you sure you want me to accompany you?”

 

“Yes,” he simply stated, “unless you really don’t wish to.”

 

Hearing him assure her that she had a choice marked the last shred of trust she needed to muster the courage to come along.

 

The trip to the Mère-Lachaiselounge cemetery would take them around five hours, and Regis suggested that they visit Beauclair on the way. Shortly after their breakfast, he mounted his mule, and she saddled the grey mare Geralt had entrusted her. She was still an untrained rider, but her horse had a kind nature, and its gentle, billowing pace soon calmed her.

 

It was a cloudy day. In the horizon towards the west, curtains of rain fell on the fields of grapes, olive and citrus. The climate was temperate and humid during the day – the calendar was well into spring. Even without the sunlight, Rennaugh still marvelled at the beauty of the scenery, quite different from the outskirts of Cintra where she had spent most of her life.

 

It was the season for tending to the grape vines, and Barnabus-Basil had his hands full of hiring extra help with the vineyards that belonged to Corvo Bianco, as well as in the process of preparing the estate’s famous Sepremento.

 

“Regis?” Rennaugh asked her teacher, “I know people love wine for its taste, but does it have any use in potions or decoctions? What about grapes?”

 

“An excellent question!” he answered, “except for having the reputation of lowering blood pressure, I know not of any alchemical use of wine, nor of grapes. It might be a sacrilege to speak of it in these areas – to use the holy grape as a common herb? Perish the thought!”

 

He grinned, and she could clearly see his pointed canine teeth. She couldn’t help but to laugh, and enjoyed her newfound affection for him after his revelation.

 

Regis watched her - how well she looked now compared to when they had first met. She had gained weight, and the signs of malnourishment were replaced by a healthy complexion. Marlene had coaxed her thick hair in a becoming, single braid in her neck instead of her usual two. Ever since Kovir, she had refused to wear dresses, and would instead wear leather or plush breeches together with a cotton tunic or blouse, much like Triss. Her brown, hooded cape rested over her shoulders. She also wore a thick leather belt around her waist where she fastened a herb pouch. As a last token of her change, she always wore the heeled leather boots given to her by Geralt.

 

Her outer change seemed to signify her evolving inner self. She was no longer the poor girl fighting for her life in Kovir.

 

A they approached Beauclair, the clouds in the sky started to show tears where the sunlight seeped through. The rays of the sun hit the stone pavements and the buildings of the city, and Rennaugh nearly gaped from astonishment.

 

Beauclair was a beautiful city. Built mainly by the red clay and orange coloured granite of the surrounding mountains, it gave a bright appearance. As if the people in the city loved colour, some of the house exteriors were painted blue and green. The architecture was extravagant, with beautifully shaped house exteriors. Roses adorned the edges of the streets and city squares, and birds flocked on top of the roofs. The citizens of Beauclair gave a less grim impression on Rennaugh compared to the populace of Cintra, as if the different climate of the regions affected appearance. The women wore colourful clothing, as well as the children found playing in the streets.

 

She and Regis ate at a lovely inn on the Gran’place, overlooking the palace on the other side of the Sansretour river. She noticed he seemed to sink into a melancholic state, however, and they did not tardy to leave.

 

*

  

It was late in the afternoon when they reached the cemetery. The sun set, and a fine mist crept over the damp ground surrounding the scattered gravestones. As they reached the crypt and bound their mounts, she let out a short laugh in a puff of air.

 

“I’m sorry Regis,” she said as he cast her a curious glance, “but this is just how I would imagine a vampire hideout to look like.”

 

He made a facial expression that let her know he pretended to be offended by her words.

 

They descended the stairs to the crypt, and entered an oval room lit by a few scattered candle lights. It was dominated by a wooden worktable and a large, oak bookshelf hoisted to the wall, filled with books, vials and what seemed to be various kinds of toys. It surprised her, but she had little time to wonder about their purpose before the man called Dettlaff appeared from a dark corner of the room.

 

“So, you decided to bring her after all.” He held his arms crossed over his chest. He gave an equally grim expression as the last time they had encountered him. His dark stubble had grown more compact as if he had neglected to shave. His gaze was still dark, but she noticed he had blue eyes, a few shades lighter than her own.

 

She realized she saw him in a different light now that she knew his story. She knew now he was a man who had been used by the person he had loved. She had been through some hardships in her life, but she could not even imagine how much pain such a betrayal must cause.

 

“Yes,” Regis replied to his friend, “As I earlier said, I believe she can help with the situation at hand. But first, I think we should do a proper introduction.”

 

Regis let out one hand towards Rennaugh, facing the other vampire.

 

“This is Rennaugh Didriksdottir, protégé of Triss Merigold, and my apprentice. Rennaugh, meet again: Dettlaff van der Eretein, my friend and blood brother, formerly known as the beast of Beauclair.”

 

The younger vampire’s face darkened at Regis’ last words, but he nodded.

 

“Rennaugh. A Skellige name.”

 

She tried not to show her surprise at his knowledge of the genealogy of her name. She bowed her head slightly in greeting, her heart pounding loud enough for her to worry the two men in the room could hear it.

 

Regis continued, turned to her. “Before we move on to the matter of why Dettlaff has returned to Touissant, I want you to know that yesterday, I took the liberty of informing him of your abilities. He has agreed to help me explore them. As you know, we are yet to understand just what and how much you can do.”

 

The raven-haired vampire let his hands down, fists clenching. “I did no such thing,” his dark voice was almost sharp enough to rattle her knees, “I said I would consider it.”

 

Regis's posture did not falter because of the sharp edges in his friend’s speech. “Oh, but I think a favor for a favor is customary, hm? As I said, I really think Rennaugh can help you with your problem. In fact, I will need her in order to help you. So, it is only fair that you help me help her.”

 

“You _think_?” Dettlaff growled, but did not continue as Regis held up a hand at him. The grey-haired vampire’s previous kind expression had turned into stone. "Do you desire my help or not, Dettlaff?"   

 

The younger vampire seemed to resign. He nodded as he hastily looked away. Turning a sharp gaze on Rennaugh, he crossed his arms on his chest again.

 

"Show me," he demanded.

 

She felt her cheeks flush from his gaze. “Show you what?” she breathed. She suddenly felt an urge to straighten her tunic, to brush off the strands of hair that had escaped her braid.

 

“Show me your abilities. Regis told be you can… manipulate the air?”

 

Regis took a few steps towards her, and the other vampire followed suit. She tried to keep her shoulders squared. “It is not unlike the telekinetic blast Geralt can cast with the aard sign,” Regis explained, “but her ability is much more controlled.” He lifted his chin to point out something beside her. “Rennaugh, can you lift that candle, without touching it?”

 

She looked to her left where an empty wine bottle served as the base of a stearic candle. Lifting her hand, the small flame of the candle flickered as the bottle lifted in mid-air with a slight hasty movement. She concentrated on holding the candle afloat, casting a questioning glance at Regis.

 

“Yes, that’s good my dear, you can put it down.” Releasing the grasp of energy that held the bottled candle hovering, she carefully placed it back on the table.

 

"A levitation spell," Dettlaff said.  

 

“But she uses no spells.” Regis filled in, “have you ever heard of a sorceress with similar powers?”

 

“No,” the dark-haired man admitted, “But as I told you, I am no expert in human witchcraft.” 

 

Sorceress. Witch. Words that stuck to her now. She knew they signified what she was, yet she couldn’t help examining them as if they did not belong to her.  _I guess it’s better than freak_ , she concluded in her mind. 

 

“How do you do it?” her thought was interrupted by the younger vampire.

 

“What?” she mumbled, unprepared for the question.  

 

“How is it done?” he repeated, “do you command the items you lift?”

 

She searched her mind for a reasonable way to answer him. She wasn’t sure she could explain it even to herself. Regis looked at her, seemingly equally interested in her response. 

 

“It’s difficult to explain…” her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “There are no spells... But perhaps the word ‘command’ is close to what I do…”

 

She raised one hand and rotated it as to show them what she meant. “Think of air. You would think it consists of nothing. But that’s not true. There are these… energies around us.” She lifted her eyes to theirs as she found an example as to what she meant. “Like the wind. We cannot see it, but we say we do because it can move things. It can be the gentle breeze that tousles our hair or ruffles the leaves of the trees. Then, there is the wild storm that rips the trees from the ground and shakes buildings… or better yet, think of gravitation! it is a form of energy. I’ve always been able to communicate with those kinds of energies around us. Although…” 

 

“Although you’ve restrained yourself to not be seen as a freak, or worse, to be hunted and killed like a monster,” Dettlaff said.  

 

A profound silence fell between them. Her chest aching, she realized they all shared this experience. It was the closest to a feeling of community she’d had in her entire life.  

 

Suddenly, Regis turned to the man beside him. With a completely serious expression in his face, he said: “Dettlaff, I want you to attack me.” 

 

An expression of surprise and aversion overcame Rennaugh. “Regis…” Dettlaff warned, uttered at the same time as her vocal “what?!”

 

Regis merely nodded at his friend. “Trust me” he said, turning his eyes to her. The two men shared a moments gaze where something was exchanged, a short nod from the grey-haired vampire who backed away a few steps. What took place next happened fast, but in her memory, she would later think of it as in slow motion.

 

Dettlaff’s face transformed into something that made her eyes widen in trepidation. His teeth grew in to sharp fangs simultaneously as his nose melted into a wrinkled snout. The color of his face changed from pale to ivory, and his eyes turned black. His hands expanded, his fingers long and knifelike, as if they sprouted horrible claws. With a hiss, the creature that had been Dettlaff flung himself on Regis. 

 

“No!” she screamed in panic, her horror so strong that the taste of bile rose in her throat. Acting on instinct, she flung her arms out and caught Dettlaff’s monstrous hands just as they were about to reach Regis’s chest, and forced his arms back. He let out at guttural, choking sound as she pressed the energy wave to catch his upper body, pushing him towards the wall and walking towards him. There, she pinned him with the force of her distress, her heart beating like that of a cornered animal.

 

Still trapped, the creature transformed back into the dark-haired man, and after just a few seconds, she gazed into his blue eyes again. Slowly letting go of her grasp, their eyes interlocked, and she could feel her mouth run dry as something she could not name flowed between them.

 

“Well,” she heard Regis say behind them, “that was quite something else than a candle, wouldn’t you say?”

 

*

 

It was dark outside when she and Regis remounted their mounts and began their trip back to Corvo Bianco. The conversation that passed after the diverted attack on Regis returned to her and went on repeat in her head as she tried to understand.

 

Dettlaff recounted the reason for his return to Touissant. During the last year, when he and Regis had been separated, lesser vampires, even alps and bruxas, had started to disappear in mysterious circumstances in the areas around Amell mountains. Some were found dead; apparently struck by a disease he had been unable to recognise. Regis was shook by the news. It was very unusual for vampires to fall ill, he explained, as they were immune to most diseases that affected humans. It was completely unheard of that fatal diseases would infect any kind of vampire.

 

Dettlaff returned to look for Regis, as he hoped he could provide some answers. He also needed help in a related matter. He worried about a friend of his.

 

“Regis,” Rennaugh finally dared to ask as they rode past Beauclair on their way back, “what exactly is a bruxa?”

 

“It is a kind of female vampire,” he explained, ”they are very rare, but also quite intelligent. Some even learn the common tounge. Most however, shun humans and live far away from any human settlement or city.”

 

She glanced at him with a questioning frown. “And Dettlaff fears that one of them… his friend, is struck by this disease?”

 

“Yes”, Regis answered, “which is very troublesome. I have to consult my books on the nature of this disease…” he fell in pensive silence.

 

Riding forth a while longer, Rennaugh remembered something Regis had said during their visit to the crypt. She mustered the courage to ask another question. “Regis…” he turned to face her. “When you introduced Dettlaff, you said you were blood brothers. What does that mean?”

 

“Ah,” he smiled melancholically, “it means that he once saved my life. I recall having told you higher vampires cannot die, didn't I?”

 

She nodded.

 

“Well, that is not entirely true,” he continued. “It is a long story, one I’m happy to share at another time, but to make it short, I was once melted to glass by a particularly vile man.”

 

She felt a shiver run down her body that made the hair on her arms stand up. She couldn’t even imagine the agony such an unbelievable act must have caused him. Even through the dark night, only lit up by a few lanterns along the main road, she could see that the memory caused him pain. 

 

“As you might imagine, I experienced something very close to what you humans call death. But as it were, Dettlaff found me and nursed me back to health by sacrificing much of his own blood. We are bound ever since.”

 

There was nothing she could say. She realized she had to relearn so many things. All she knew about vampires was that they were bloodsucking, awful monsters, feeding of the veins of especially children and young women. Now she had gotten to know two of them, and they had both proved to be capable of enormous acts of compassion and selflessness. She felt as if she knew nothing of anything anymore.

 

They returned very late to Corvo Bianco.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are monsters? are they made, or born? What is it to be human when we can commit monstrous acts? What are monsters when they care and show mercy? 
> 
> These were the main issues that I thought about a lot when doing my playthrough of blood and wine. It's no surprise then perhaps, that I wish to explore the same themes in this fic. 
> 
> Well, besides getting to write a trashy romance novel about a sexy vampire, of course. 
> 
> All your kudos an comments warm my heart! You guys really are the best.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, Regis let her sleep late and have a long, lazy breakfast. It was still difficult for her to not try to find something to do in the house, to not be of use and work. Her years of toiling for others had left her feeling spoilt when taken care of herself, and somehow undeserving. She tried to compensate by repeating and working on the lessons Regis had taught her. Although he hadn’t let her work on the alchemy table on her own yet, she tried to learn as many formulas she could by heart.

 

They ventured out again in the afternoon. Dettlaff was going to meet them in the forest where they’d had their first encounter. They had to be very careful, Regis explained, because the happenings five years ago were not forgotten. Even though most people outside of Beauclair treated the story of the beast like a fairy tale, not entirely real, they could not risk Dettlaff being recognized.

 

“Regis,” she asked on their way to the forest, “I noticed there were toys in the crypt yesterday?” She hesitated slightly. There could be a story behind the toys that was too private for him to share, but her curiosity got the upper hand.

 

“Yes,” Regis replied, “they’re Dettlaff’s. Did I not mention he crafts toys? He even did it as a profession for a while.”

 

“He made those?” she gaped. She thought about the quality to the wooden carvings, the elegant embroidery of the stuffed toys, the beautiful colors. Regis confirmed, nodding.

 

 _He’s an artist_ , she thought.

 

She soon understood that today’s lessons would not be about herbs or alchemy. Regis asked her to lift objects, which she did. She spun twigs around, she let a jet of air lift fallen leaves from the ground, she carefully beckoned a butterfly to her hand, but quickly released it. It didn’t feel right. _I shouldn’t use my powers on living creatures_ , she concluded.

 

Instead, she let a large, fallen tree hover above the ground.

 

Due to her concentration, she didn’t notice the presence of the younger vampire as he arrived. When she realized he was there, she nearly dropped the tree from the feeling of his gaze on her.

 

“It seems you a capable of controlling subtle movements as well as stronger currents of energy.” Regis commented.

 

Dettlaff merely observed her, arms crossed and that grim look on his face. “Do you know if you’re able to control water?” he finally asked.

 

She shook her head.

 

It was a warm spring afternoon. The leaves of the beech trees were sprouting and the ground near the edge of the forest filled with white anemones. The cooing of doves and the croaks of crows filled the air, and in the distance, they could hear the strange barking of a deer calling for his mate. They walked towards the stream that further ahead joined the Sans-retour river, and soon closed in on its lapping sounds.

 

As they arrived, Rennaugh squatted near the brink of the stream and placed her fingers carefully on the cool surface. Her two companions remained at a slight distance, discussing something apparently not for her ears.

 

She ignored them and tried to reach out to the water.

 

At first, it didn’t respond. Water was different from air; heavier, but somehow more fleeting. It’s energies never stopped. She closed her eyes and felt it carry diverse types of life; from the tiny, green algae not discernable to the eye, to the weeds, the fish, the clams, and something large at its bottom. She only grazed the energies of the creature, as she did not wish to provoke it. But the energies of the water itself eluded her.

 

She concentrated harder. She could feel it, almost reach for it, but it would just be out of her grasp. Then, the energies of the stream recognized her. They rose to meet her as if she was an old acquaintance. She smiled. The stream acted as if it was happy to see her.

 

The two vampires stopped in the middle of their conversation as they realized the edge of the water had retracted, leaving a stretch of the floor of the stream exposed to the sun. They saw Rennaugh standing with her hands in front of her, her palms to the sky, looking up at a large wave closing in. Before they had time to react, the wave came crashing down, and it would have knocked her off her feet had it not retracted itself in the last minute. She took a few steps away from the stream and sat down on a patch of grass in the sand, shaking the wet strands of hair that escaped her braid.

 

Rennaugh heart palpitations were hard from surprise. She was obviously still not trained enough to handle the energies of water, but she was exhilarated. She couldn’t wait to communicate with it again. But the concentration of the effort had tired her. She took a few deep breaths as she closed her eyes.

 

A guttural, croaking sound was heard behind her. She knew that sound. She also knew it was much too close for safety.

 

The nekkers jumped on her before she even saw them. In panic, she let out a blast of energy from the taps of her almost spent reserves. The creatures fell back with nasty, hollow shrieks. The next moment, all she saw was rapid movements of black leather and the slashes of long claws cutting through the bodies of the creatures. Their dark, green blood stained the sand of the ground as their shrieks filled the air.

 

She watched him, holding her breath, as Dettlaff rapidly transformed back from his monstrous form to his human features as he approached her.

 

“Are you all right?” his deep voice had a rasp in it that rung in her heart. She nodded. He lifted her up and walked her to a stone further up the brink. He carefully let her down, and with his hand he softly grazed her shoulder. “Your shirt,” he said.

 

She tore her eyes from his face and gazed towards her right shoulder. One of the nekkers had managed to give her a long scratch from the shoulder blade to her waist that let out a few drops of blood, causing a long tear in the fabric of her shirt, but she hadn’t even noticed the sting. Her every sense had been filled with him, his smell, the taut muscles of his arms, the leather of his coat. Her breath became heavier for other reasons than fear.

 

Her face burned. She reluctantly let her hands, still resting against his chest, fall. “It’s nothing,” she whispered, and tried to smile, “thank you.”

 

As if realizing what he had done, he regained his scowl and took a step away from her.

 

Behind him, she caught Regis’ eyes. He had a certain expression on his face; a mix of surprise, warmth and worry. She could tell it had nothing to do with the attack of the creatures.

 

“Are you alright?” he asked as he came up to them. “It seems you accidentally disturbed the nekkers when manipulating the water of the stream. You must remember to be careful, my dear. Now, let’s get you back to the estate and have that cut cleaned.”

 

She didn’t mind the reprimand. She felt cared for. 

 

*

 

That same morning, a letter arrived at the royal court of Kovir, addressed to the magical advisor Triss Merigold. She stiffened slightly as she saw the sigil, a lilac flower, and Yennefer of Vengerberg’s elegant handwriting.

 

 _Dear Triss_ , the letter began,

_I’m going to skip the usual pleasantries that normally make letters so long and dull, and cut right to the case. I’ve understood you’ve been inquiring about a magical ability, or shall we say, a certain kind of witchcraft, to the lodge. Please Triss, you know the lodge would never care about any issue that does not immediately concern their own affairs. We both know they only agreed to help Cirilla stop the White frost to save their own hides, for example._

 

Triss frowned, but continued reading,

 

_You see, I couldn’t help but to be intrigued by the story that was circulating, so I’ve made some inquiries of my own. You’ve found a girl who can manipulate the air? It’s all too fantastic. This might mean she could be almost as powerful as our dear Ciri, no? Well, I found a very old tome of Skellige lore, and no, I won’t tell you where, just know it was very hard to come by, it was all tattered as if someone had tried to destroy it,_

 

Triss couldn’t help but to smile at how Yen wrote letters, as if having an actual conversation,

 

 _And there I found the most intriguing story! Apparently, it is believed that on the Skellige isles, about a thousand years ago, there existed a sisterhood of powerful magic wielders, much like our_ dear _lodge, that called themselves the Dathmori. The individual witches were called ixas, and especially powerful ixas were known as norna. They were known to be able to manipulate the elements and use telekinesis to bend the air to their will. Isn’t it fascinating! But then, without explanation, the ixas of the Dathmori disappeared, and here the story becomes very vague._

_Well, there you have it. I’d like to continue probing into this lore a little further, if you don’t mind. You didn’t know I was interested in history lessons, did you?_

Triss could almost imagine Yen laughing as she wrote those words. She was filled with melancholy. She missed her friend. Yen could have used the megascope to contact her but chose to write a letter. Did she not want to speak to her in person? The letter was concluded with a wish of her health, and a greeting to the wolf.

 

She put the letter down, gathered a pen and paper, and started writing a reply to Yen, to implore her to please continue her investigations.

 

She needed to tell Geralt as soon as she got home.

 

*

 

“It’s not far. We go north towards Belhaven. From there, it’s only a week’s travel to the Amell mountains. We’ll need to get through Cheodula pass. “

 

The trio of Regis, Dettlaff and Rennaugh were sitting in the crypt, a few days after the happenings near the stream. Dettlaff wanted to leave for his friend as soon as possible, and needed Regis to come with him. Regis however, explained that he understood the need to leave soon, but he would not leave his young apprentice behind. As the trip would only take about a week or two, they decided they could all go and be back in time for Geralt’s and Triss’ return to Corvo Bianco.

 

“These are places devoid of human settlement,” Regis replied to his friend, “We will need to camp outside. It is unwise.” Rennaugh realized Regis words signified a worry for her. She wanted to protest, but the younger vampire spoke in hard voice that stopped her breath.

 

“This is why I don’t want to bring her,” he growled, standing up. He had that dark expression on his face. “She is too vulnerable, she will only slow us down…”

 

She felt the anger rise in her chest like acid. Trying to force back her agitation to not sound like a sullen little girl, she spoke:

 

“If you two haven’t noticed, I’m very well capable of taking care of myself.” Her voice was cold. Her fixated her gaze in his to interrupt the raven-haired man’s protest. “Frankly, I am in some ways more powerful than you are. Or have you forgotten our first encounter here in the crypt?” She lifted her chin in defiance. “You know what I can do; I’m not afraid.” She pushed away the memory of the encounter with the nekkers aside in her head.

 

Dettlaff’s frown did not leave his face, but Regis looked at her with an expression she nearly interpreted as pride. “It is not only that,” he said to her softly. “We know you are strong. But the mountains are unforgiving. There is the cold, and the need for shelter.”

 

She felt her cheeks blush as she regretted some of her hard tone. They had spoken out of care for her. But she did not sway. “We’re in the start of summer. I will be fine.” Her voice was less hard, but she folded her arms to signify that she would not be persuaded to stay behind.

 

Regis looked at her, a smile in one corner of his mouth, and nodded.

 

Dettlaff’s scowl did not waver. He turned his back at them and walked out of the crypt. Rennaugh and Regis looked at his leather-covered shoulders for a moment, and followed suit.

 

*

 

Upon leaving Corvo Bianco, Marlene packed her extra clothing and food to last for at least a week. They bade her and Barnabus-Basil good bye, claiming to be off for a week-long excursion to further her knowledge of herbs. They met up with Dettlaff in Belhaven, where they stayed for a day and a night to restock and tending of the horses. After a week, they reached the passage that separated Cheodula pass from Sudoth Valley.

 

The Amell mountains were slightly different than the mountains in Touissant, less pointed and spectacular, but larger. Everywhere she looked, the landscape was dominated by the cliffs and the mountains with their specks of white on the tops even in the height of summer. The forest was different too, with predominantly maple, pine and fir trees, mossy hills and white birches. She’d never encountered forests so dense before. Above them, eagles hovered, occasional squirrels jumped past them from the trees, and they found traces of large animals such as deer, moose and wolves.

 

Seeing an unusual plant or flower, she hopped off her horse and show it to Regis, and they discussed it’s uses as she remounted and continued their path. Dettlaff did not protest, neither did he show much interest in their musings.

 

Once they rode past a mountain ridge with a huge, burly stone moving along its side. Rennaugh could not believe her eyes. The horses became nervous of the monster, and they dismounted a moment to lead them by their reins.

 

“Troll.” Dettlaff said.

 

Her eyes followed the large, rock-like creature in stupefaction. She didn’t know such things could exist. “Are they dangerous?”

 

“Not at all,” Regis assured her. “Unless they are attacked or provoked, of course. They are sometimes hunted by witchers. Troll liver is a very potent ingredient in some concoctions.”

 

That evening, they made camp near a cliff that would protect them should the wind increase, but as it were, the night was calm and almost serene, the stars twinkling, a thin sliver of the moon hanging over their heads like a huge cuticle.

 

It would take them only a day’s more travel to reach his friend, Dettlaff ensured them.

 

She ate the meal she had prepared before with the help of Marlene. Regis excused himself, and left.

 

“Where is he going?” she asked the other vampire.

 

“To hunt,” he answered, the light from the camp fire casting shadows in his face.

 

She didn’t say anything else. She doubted he was interested in small talk.

 

Rennaugh decided to spread her cape under her, and tried to find a comfortable position to sleep. The ground was hard underneath her, and although she had put on an extra shirt that morning, the night was cool enough for her to shiver slightly. But she’d be damned if she made him aware of it.

 

The day’s ride had tired her. She soon felt her eyelids turn heavy despite her slight discomfort. Just as her eyes closed, she felt him step closer, hesitantly. Then, something was draped over her body. She realized to her utter surprise it was his leather coat.

 

She fell asleep with the strangest mix of emotions, gratitude and disbelief, and something else; a warmth she did not dare to name.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where my story starts to diverge from canon. I have been inspired by two other fandoms when writing this fic, and I believe it is not too difficult to guess which ones! Hopefully, the background story of the sisterhood of Skellige witches is not written in a way that is too out of the witcher world. 
> 
> I have finished this fic now, and it will be 13 chapters and a short epilouge. I will continue to update around twice per week, simply because the text still needs editing. Your comments have really helped me realize what to focus on when editing. You make this fic better! 
> 
> Oh, the tag has been changed to explicit now, because that chapter just seemed to... swell.


	6. Chapter 6

The next day, they climbed upwards, eventually having to leave the horses behind as they neared the bruxa’s lair. The trees became more infrequent and the landscape rockier and barren. It was a sunny day, but here in the mountains, the air was thin and cool. The mountain tops were nearly enveloped in the few clouds that hovered above them.

 

Suddenly, Dettlaff stopped, staring at a large block of granite hoisted against the mountain side. Staring at it in near disbelief, his face darkened. “She is just behind that rock.” His fists clenched in anger. He closed his eyes for a moment, his frown deepening. “She’s dying. Can you feel it?” he was talking to Regis.

 

Regis closed his eyes as well, and after a few moments, he opened them at his friend and nodded.

 

Rennaugh took a quick decision. She walked up to the dark-haired vampire, and laid a hand on his arm. Surprised, he turned his eyes to her. His scowl did not waver, but he did not try to stop her as she took a few steps past him.

 

She closed her eyes and started to concentrate. Holding both hands in front of her, palms facing the sky, she tried to summon the energies in the air to help her. They encircled the block, but no, it was not right, she had to try something else. She searched in the rock itself, probing for its own energies, tugged as its weight halted by the cliff below. She closed her eyes to be able to communicate with the energies better, a muscle in her arm twitching from the effort.

 

The block responded. With its own force that tugged it to the ground, to the cliff, it let itself be moved aside a few arms lengths to allow for a cavity in the mountain side to be exposed. The sound of scraping stone filled the air.

 

Carefully, she hoisted the large chunk of granite back onto the wall. The effort made her tremble, she squatted to not lose balance and fall. It was frustrating. She cursed in her head. She knew, if only she could train more, learn how to focus better, she would be able to use the telekinesis on much larger items.

 

She knew now she could move mountains, only with the right training. They were calling to her, their energies wanting to be held by her. Suddenly, she felt it all, the trees, the ground, the sky, the waters. They all called for her.

 

She blocked it out with a short gasp. Why would they call for her, if nothing needed change? Was she in the end going to be alone in her decisions on what to control, what to manipulate? Suddenly, she feared her own powers.

 

“Are you all right?” Regis had placed a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, and swallowed. She nodded.

 

Dettlaff gazed at her with a serious expression, as if he’d heard her thoughts. He tore her eyes from her and disappeared into the cave.

 

*

 

The breach into the mountain in which the Bruxa had made her lair was large like the salon of a villa. Rennaugh could not see the end of it as darkness ruled in its corners.

 

Rennaugh couldn’t hold back a shudder. Visible thought the light of the entrance to the cave laid the corpse of a man, his face dry and paper-like, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Her stomach threatened to turn and empty its contents at the smell. She lifted her eyes to her company as they both stood at a corner of the lair. Dettlaff kneeled and placed a hand on a woman-like figure.

 

Rennaugh had never seen a bruxa before, and she could not have anticipated what they would look like. This seemed to her to have the same size as a female human, with long, black hair and a lithe body. She was almost beautiful, but her skin was nothing like that of a human; instead, it was a sickening mix of green and purple and something that Rennaugh could only describe as transparent. She was naked. As she opened her eyes, Rennaugh could see she had no irises, her eyes were simply two black globes in her head.

 

Something was definitely wrong with her. Her black eyes were glossy with pain. She made no sign of recognizing Dettlaff's, nor Regis’ presence. Her body was writhing like a snake, but slow, as if sedated.

 

Regis got to work quickly. As he examined her, Rennaugh took a few steps closer.

 

“She’s been feeding on that corpse. It is probably what’s kept her alive this long.” Regis stated, placing a hand on her forehead. “I can’t for my life figure out what is causing her this agony…” he knitted his eyebrows together. “Can she be poisoned?”

 

All the while, Dettlaff watched her, his face like stone.

 

Rennaugh felt a sting run through her body. He cared about the being fighting for her life below them. Not long ago, it had been her fighting for her life, poisoned by a thief’s blade in Geralt’s and Triss’ home…

 

She closed her eyes again, concentrating. She’d never tried this before, and wasn’t sure it could be done. She tried to reach out to the energies in the bruxa’s body. They immediately woke up, so strong she almost recoiled. The eyelids of the bruxa flashed open once more. The energies shrieked, from a point in her body.

 

Rennaugh closed the connection and let out a shuddering breath as she opened her eyes.

 

“There’s something in her neck.”

 

Regis looked at her in surprise. Dettlaff eyed her, his expression grave. He turned the bruxa around, drew the blade he wore on his back, and dug the tip into a point low in her neck, near her shoulders. She screamed. A bloodied item fell clattering on the cavern floor.

 

Regis picked it up and examined it. The bruxa fell back as Dettlaff held her.

 

“A toxin ampoule,” Regis deduced. “I’d wager, if we were to examine the other vampires found dead; we would find the same thing in them. It seems we have solved one part of our mystery.”

 

“Will she be alright?” Rennaugh asked silently.

 

“I’m not sure”, Regis answered, shaking his head slightly. “The poison may have affected her for too long. Rennaugh, do you remember what potion can speed up health generation?”

 

“The swallow, of course!” she immediately started looking for the ingredients in her pouch.

 

*

 

A few hours later, the bruxa showed little signs of recovering. Although her pain seemed to have vanished, she was still more or less lifeless.

 

“She needs to feed.” Regis stated, as he was kneeling beside her. He looked up at Dettlaff.

 

“No,” the other vampire replied. But Regis rose to his feet and turned to his apprentice. She sat near the entrance, and turned an inquisitive look on him. “Rennaugh,” Regis began as he walked a little closer to her. “I’m going to ask a great favor of you.” He held her gaze in his.

 

“Go on,” she said. Dettlaff started to protest, but was interrupted by Regis.

 

“If she is to survive, she needs to feed. And there is nothing more powerful than the blood of a human.” Rennaugh’s face remained like a stone. She understood. She nodded.

 

Dettlaff started pacing back and forth, seemingly agitated. “We shouldn’t be here when she does it,” he said through gritted teeth, his grim look fastened on Regis.

 

“It will not require that much. We’ve seen her bleed before, do not worry.” Regis answered. He took a piece of cloth form his packing, and soaked it with a clear liquid. He looked up towards the roof of the lair, and with a satisfied grin, he found a rift where the sky was visible. He started to assemble firewood, and build a small fire underneath. It was the first time she saw him handle fire as if it was nothing, placing twigs and logs in the flames without burning his hands.

 

“Take this,” he handed Rennaugh the cloth. “It is antiseptic. She will need only a few drops of your blood, then you must clean your wound with this and burn it. Do you understand?” His expression was serious.

 

She nodded and took the cloth from his hand.

 

Dettlaff took the blade that he had sheathed onto his back and held it in the fire. He started to clean it, and then hesitantly handed it to Rennaugh.

 

“Thank you,” he said, his voice a timbre so dark she felt her insides rattle. His gaze burned in her. He seemed conflicted, but as Regis started to bind the Bruxas wrists, he tore his eyes from hers and ventured just outside the entrance to the cave.

 

“This is only a safety precaution,” Regis assured her. She listened very closely to his words, trying not to let the hand that held the knife tremble. “You can expect her to move, but she will not be able to hurt you. Please do not cut deep my dear, and be quick.” Then he held the string of his pouch in that posture she had come to love, gave her a smile that did not reach his eyes, and left to join the other vampire.

 

Rennaugh stared at his back as he left for the entrance before turning to the bruxa. She walked closer and counted to ten to give her heartbeat a chance to stabilize. Then she let the blade slide softly from her wrist down along her underarm. It was so sharp she hardly felt it. Bright red, fresh blood seeped from the clear cut, and she held out her elbow above the bruxa’s gaping mouth to let the warm blood trickle into her mouth. It stained the fangs and tongue of the woman-like figure.

 

Quickly, she retracted her arm and used the cloth to wipe away the blood. The wound immediately stopped seeping and closed neatly. It would leave a scar, but she knew it would in time become nearly invisible, like the scar she had on her index finger from cutting herself when cooking.

 

She threw the cloth in the fire, and watched it turn into sparks that flew in the evening air of the cavern.

 

The bruxa awoke with a hideous gasp. It sounded like it came from under water. Rennaugh staggered backwards as the female creature started tugging in the bindings of her wrists. She shrieked, her black globules fastened on Rennaugh.

 

Regis and Dettlaff quickly responded. The younger vampire came back in to kneel beside the bruxa and unbind her wrists. Her agitation didn’t waver, her shrieks kept cutting into the air of the cavern. Dettlaff laid a hand on her shoulder. Then, she finally fell silent, and turned her black eyes on him.

 

She uttered words, but Rennaugh could not interpret them. She could still see her blood on the sharp teeth of the bruxa. “You, you!” she could finally outline from the noises of the creature that sounded like the came from a bottom of a lake.

 

“Who is she?” the bruxa nearly cried, pointing a clawed finger at Rennaugh. She didn’t seem to care much about the presence of Regis, who stood silent, watching her warily.

 

“This woman sacrificed her own blood to save you”, Dettlaff said. His eyes caught Rennaugh’s, and she felt her heart clench. He looked at her in a whole new way. As if he admired her.

 

The bruxa noticed their gazes and hissed. She grabbed a hold of his face and turned it to hers. “Show me yourself!” she shrieked at him. “This is not you! I want to see you, the real you!”

 

Regis frowned, disgruntled at her words. Dettlaff first seemed surprised, but then, slowly as if reluctant, he started to transform into his other form. “Yesssss,” the bruxa hissed underneath him, and pulled his bat-like face to hers.

 

Rennaugh couldn’t stay in that cavern for another second. She almost flung herself out, chest burning from… from what? From anger, from pain, from sorrow. Walking towards their horses, she was soon joined by Regis.

 

“Dettlaff will stay with her for a while,” he said, and did not look happy. “We will meet up with him soon at camp.” She turned her face from his, so she wouldn’t reveal her emotions. “Is she…” she swallowed, “is she going to be alright?” she asked for the second time that day.

 

“Yes, she will.” She could feel his warm gaze on her. “That was a very selfless thing of you to do, Rennaugh.”

 

She didn’t answer. Acts of compassion were supposed to make you feel good. But Rennaugh only felt like her heart was filled with tar.

 


	7. Chapter 7

As they waited for Dettlaff to return, Rennaugh watched Regis prepare the camp fire in fascination as he placed the logs right in the flames without scorching his hands.  “I didn’t know vampires were resistant to fire,” she said.

 

“Oh, we’re resistant to many things,” he replied, “but this talent is quite unusual, even among vampires.” She smiled at how he couldn’t resist the temptation to boast just ever so slightly.

 

Her eyes moved as the flames of the fire flickered. Its heat warmed her front. Concentrating, she slowly let out her hand towards the heat and closed her eyes.

 

The energies of the fire were slow, almost sedative. But she knew better than to be fooled. Beneath that unhurried appearance laid vast destructive powers. The burning core of the energies didn’t seem to notice her. Unlike the water, that had been so busy dancing around it didn’t take in her presence at first, she somehow knew the fire sensed her but remained indifferent. She didn’t speak its language. No matter how she tried to reach out, the heated energies just lazily moved in its own choreography, giving her no attention.

 

She quickly withdrew her hand as she sensed Dettlaff’s return. He seemed even more dour than usual, only acknowledging her with a short nod.

 

He and Regis discussed the events earlier, and she moved closer, refusing to be left out. Dettlaff’s eyes softened just slightly when she approached them, and asked if the cut on her arm was causing her any trouble. Warmed by his question, she shook her head.

 

Dettlaff’s frown reappeared as he started recounting what the bruxa had told him about falling ill. There had been men, she’d told him. Especially one man with the magical ability to stop her from turning invisible and fleeing. There had been a fight, and she had killed one of them. Another man had spoken to her. He had even told her who he was, and what he wanted.

 

Both Regis and Rennaugh’s faces revealed their surprise and confusion.

 

“His name is Delmar de Challant,” Dettlaff continued, “he’s a nobleman from Touissant. He wanted her to give me a message. That he wants to me to come to him. Apparently, he’s waiting in an abandoned mercenary fortress in Brokilon forest, just north of Dillingen.”

 

“So, the deaths of the vampires around the area, all just a means to get to you?” Regis concluded, his face conveying worry and anger.

 

“What does he want?” Rennaugh asked. Her chest ached in disquietude.

 

It was Regis who answered. “To kill the beast of Beauclair, I would presume.” She stared at him, eyes wide. Dettlaff was already walking away from them, preparing to leave.

 

“What will you do?” she took a few steps towards him. He didn’t look at her. “I’m going to kill him,” he simply stated. The light from the fire lit the side of his face.

_He wants to avenge his lover_ , she thought. It hurt like a fist clawing in her heart. She wished… but no, her ridiculous feelings did not matter now. He had saved her life. The deaths of all these vampires was a crime. She would not let him down now.

 

“We’re coming with you.” She squared her shoulders, prepared to respond to his protest. As if their thoughts were in sync, Regis walked up to stand beside her, nodding.

 

Dettlaff turned hastily towards them. “Absolutely not,” he growled. “You have already been away longer than you should.” She knew he was right. Geralt and Triss were soon coming to Corvo Bianco, and they would become worried if she was not there when they arrived. With a tug in her heart, she pushed the thought of them aside. This was too important.  

 

“You don’t have to face this alone,” she announced, her voice stable. “We need to at least talk to this man, to convince him to stop these murders…”

 

“Do not fool yourself, girl from Cintra,” Dettlaff replied harshly, “he will not stop until I am dead.”

 

“My name is Rennaugh,” she retorted. She pressed her lips together before continuing. “Maybe there is another way.”

 

Dettlaff didn’t say anything else. He stared at her, his fists clenching at his sides.

 

Regis took a step forward. “Don’t forget,” he added, “if the man is responsible for the deaths of vampires, I have a quarrel with him myself.” He smiled shortly. “We are bound to each other. You will not get rid of us so easily.”

 

Rennaugh’s heart was warmed by the way Regis’ words sounded like that they all were bound, and not just the two of them. Like she was a part of them.

 

The younger vampire stared at his companions with a menacing expression, a muscle in his jaw working. Then his shoulders relaxed, and before he turned, she could see a flicker of gratitude in his eyes.

 

“We leave early tomorrow.”

 

*

 

That same night, as Rennaugh was just about to fall asleep, a protracted howl pierced the cool air. Her veins froze to ice. Wolves.

 

Throughout her childhood, she had been taught to fear wolves more than any other animal or monster. They were known to venture close to human settlements, attracted to the livestock. There were stories of children being dragged into the forest and killed.

 

She rose to her feet as the howls and snarls of the wolves came closer. Instinctively, she moved their camp fire, now only a few embers left casting an orange light. The pale moon light illuminated the fur-coated bodies approaching them. Their mounts snorted, hooves dancing in place.

 

“Don’t be afraid,” she heard Dettlaff speak. He was standing slightly in front of her, his back turned to the remains of the camp fire. “They won’t hurt you.”

 

Although her heart pounded from fear, she realized he was right. The wolves approached them, snarling, their snouts wrinkled and fangs glistening, but their tails were tugged between their legs as they cast submissive glances at the vampire. “Look,” he said as he lifted his eyes to a large, black female. “She’s their leader.”

 

The animal came up to him, panting. Rennaugh could have sworn it greeted him. The wolf closed its mouth as it turned a curious gaze on Rennaugh. The other wolves stopped, some tilted their heads as if listening intensely. Dettlaff seemed to become utterly surprised. His arms fell to his sides. His gaze lingered on the black wolf for a moment, before closing his eyes as if in pain.

 

Rennaugh looked at Regis in confusion. He sat with his eyebrow raised in an expression of what seemed to be equal surprise as his younger friend.

 

Then, the wolves were on their way. Dettlaff stood still for a moment as he cast a dark gaze on her. Then he turned into mist, and left. Staring at the spot where he had stood, Rennaugh finally dared to ask. “Regis, what…?”

 

His hand rested on his thighs, his posture straight. “I’m no expert on the language of the wolves,” he answered, “but I think she asked him if you were his mate.”

 

She had difficulty sleeping that night from reasons other than discomfort or cold.

 

Dettlaff did not return until the morning.

 

*

 

Geralt arrived a week later than planned at Corvo Bianco, as there had been a slight change of plan. Triss was not with him. She had to stay at the court in Lan Exter after a heated debate among the nobility, when it had been revealed that one of the sons of a noble family conducted a series of sabotages against the school of magi. It was a scandal, as the nobility in Kovir and Poviss took pride in their international reputation of being mage-tolerant. A prejudice was so blatant among the nobility was a setback for Triss, and she had to remain in the Kovir capital to conduct some extensive diplomacy in favour of her project.

 

Triss and Geralt agreed that he travelled to Touissant ahead of her, and that she would arrive hopefully only a few weeks later. She reminded him to recount the lore Yennefer had found to Rennaugh and to inspect how her and Regis’ training was going.

 

“Give them both my love,” she said as she kissed him goodbye. Geralt wasn’t even happy about not having to take a portal to Touissant without Triss. He was going to miss her.

 

He travelled first by boat to Novigrad to pay a visit to Dandelion and partake in a gwent tournament at the Passiflora. He then travelled south by horse through Vizima, Maribor and pass the Sodden hill towards Belhaven.

 

He immediately knew something was wrong when only Barnabus-Basil greeted him as he arrived at Corvo Bianco. The majordomo explained to Geralt that master Regis and miss Rennaugh had left for an excursion about three weeks ago, and that they had not been heard or seen ever since. He and Marlene were very worried, he added.

 

Frowning, Geralt walked into the villa to greet Marlene and ask her about what she knew. She recounted how Regis and his apprentice had often ventured out during the days, but always returned in the afternoons or evenings. This time, it had been a week’s excursion, they said, but they never returned. “I do hope they are alright,” the cook said, worryingly wringing her hands.

 

 _Something must have happened_ , Geralt thought. He couldn’t understand why his friend had not returned with the girl. Suddenly, he felt a flicker of fear. He knew Regis was strong, but he had also seen him die once. He did not want to go through that again. In the back of his mind, he formed a suspicion that the other vampire had something to do with their disappearance. Cold rage replaced the fear. If this was true, he was going to kill him this time.

 

Geralt prepared to leave Corvo Bianco the next day to look for them. Barnabus-Basil told him they had left for the north, towards Amell mountains. It shouldn’t be too hard to track them down.

 

The next morning, just when he was about to mount his horse, a succession of fancy-clothed men and women walked up the path to the estate court yard. He stiffened as he saw the heraldry of the duchy.

 

The duchess Anna Henrietta herself descended her carriage onto his court yard.

 

Geralt felt unease. Their last meeting had not been a happy occasion. In the crypt - the final resting place of her sister - he handed her a letter that constituted the proof that Sylvia Anna plotted the assassination of the duchess. Anna Henrietta refused to believe her sister wanted her killed, screaming it was all slander, and ordered the letter to be burned. Only because of Dandelions diplomacy did Geralt not lose his head in that ordeal.

 

He observed her warily as she broke free from her entourage and approached him. She looked just as radiant as she had five years ago. He had the presence to take a bow.

 

“Geralt of Rivia,” the duchess said in her sophisticated accent, “I understand you might be surprised by my visit. First of all, I would like to assure you that this is not a gesture of hostility, quite the contrary.” She looked like her words brought her pain, but she tried to smile.

 

“Your grace, for what do I owe the privilege of your presence?” Geralt said clumsily. He never learned how to behave among royalty.

 

“Please, Anna Henrietta is fine,” the duchess responded amicably, although she seemed uncomfortable. “I’m here because I wish to speak to you. I came as soon as I heard you had returned to Touissant.”

 

He motioned her to the veranda, where a professional Barnabus-Basil provided them with refreshment as if he had served royalty his entire life. The duchess managed to smile at him. “You seem well,” she started, turning to Geralt with a visibly nervous expression. He wished she could skip the pleasantries and tell him what it was she wanted, but managed to croak a “I am, thanks”.

 

She suddenly lost air, like a failed soufflé. “Look Geralt, I know we didn’t exactly part on the best of terms…” Geralt only shook his head. “I… I never had the letter destroyed. Dandelion finally convinced me to keep it, should I want to read it at another time, when I was less upset.” She pronounced Dandelions name in the accent of the region, much like the origin of the name; lions tooth.

 

Anna Henrietta sighed deeply and interlocked her hands. “For years, I was furious, distressed… I hid the letter and nearly forgot about it. Then, only a few weeks ago, one of my chambermaids found it and presented it to me.”  

 

She looked at him, and he could see her pain, and was it – shame?

 

“Your words – they trickled into me. I felt like a stone being transformed by drops of water. I came to the conclusion that I can’t close my eyes… I need to accept everything she was, everything she did,” Anna Henrietta continued. “You were right,” she conceded, her shoulders sloping.

 

Geralt felt no joy in her words. He only saw a woman losing a sister, over and over again.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said. He saw a single tear fall from her eye. She wiped it away. “This is not the only reason I am here,” she announced. “This whole ordeal five years ago still has repercussions that I fear will end badly.”

 

Geralt let her know he wanted her to explain by frowning.

 

“The vampire,” she continued, “that… Dettlaff.” She looked at him, eyes stern. “I will never forgive him for killing my sister, or for what he did to the people of Beauclair. But I cannot pretend Syanna didn’t deceive him to believe that the murders he committed was to save her. Anyway,” she angrily wiped another tear from her face, “Because the beast of Beauclair; the murderer of my sister, never died, he has become a target in a ridiculous bounty hunt among the nobility here in Touissant.”

 

Geralt listened with great interest.

 

“In brief,” she continued, “a few young men among the, let’s say lesser branches of the Touissant nobility, are somehow convinced that if they kill the beast, they’ll fall into my good graces. There’s even a rumour I will give whomever kills the beast great riches and estates, as well as consider him as my next spouse.”

 

She scarcely avoided to roll her eyes. “It is absurd,” she asserted with a puff of air, “which is why I have,” she swallowed, “decided to lift the ban of this Dettlaff. He is no longer considered the enemy of the duchy. I do not wish for these noblemen to get killed.” She looked Geralt sternly in the eye. “For his crimes, however, he is banned from _Beauclair_ for ever.” She emphasised the name of the capital with a hard voice.

 

Geralt head spun of surprise. This was an enormous gesture of generosity from the duchess. He was relieved not to remain on her hate list.

 

“Geralt,” she said in a lower voice, “he may return if he wishes to, but should he ever hurt anyone in Touissant again, I want you to kill him.”

 

He nodded. “I will.”

 

The duchess looked him in the eye for a moment, as if to discern the sincerity of his promise, only to stand up and gather her dress to leave. Two young court ladies ran up to her to make sure her dress didn’t get stuck or stained.

 

Before Anna Henrietta reunited with her entourage and began her return to the Beauclair palace, she turned to face the witcher. “Even with everything I know,” she said, “I still love her. I still miss her. Is that strange?” Her expression was calm, but he could see the pain in her eyes.

 

“No,” Geralt simply declared.

 

The duchess of Touissant nodded, and left.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love doesn’t discriminate  
> Between the sinners  
> And the saints  
> It takes and it takes and it takes  
> And we keep loving anyway
> 
> Lin-Manuel Miranda, Wait for it.
> 
> This chapter functions as a "bridge" between two parts of the story. In the next three chapters, the relationship will deepen, but there will also be a clash. This part of the story will culminate in some action. Can't wait to share it with you!
> 
> I hope you are having an amazing day ~


	8. Chapter 8

Leaving the vicinity of the Amell mountains, the trio of Rennaugh and the two vampires travelled north in a rough pace that caused her to fall asleep each night like her body was made of stone. If the night was cool or if it was raining, her companions always found adequate shelter for her. One of them stayed with her as she slept. The meals prepared to her by Marlene finished already after the encounter with the bruxa, but as she was used to sometimes go for days without more to eat than a few pieces of bread, she never complained. There were plenty of things to eat however, as they were almost in the height of summer; berries, fruit, beans, roots, kale, fish, even edible flowers. Nature was bountiful, and Regis helped her make sure she was never starving. Dettlaff would continue to spread his coat over her on cool nights.

 

She couldn’t help but to sometimes cast glances at him, at his leather-covered shoulders, the way his eyelashes could cast shadows over his elegant, high cheekbones, the slight curl at the end of his black hair, all leaving her mouth dry. She found Regis to be handsome too, but she felt at very different kind of warmth towards him.

 

Setting camp along streams or creeks, she would bathe, and revel in how merrily the waters always accepted her. Would it be the same to communicate with the sea? she wondered. Her bangs started irritating her as it grew long enough to get into her eyes. She needed a haircut, she concluded with a sigh.

 

She would care for her horse each night, tending to slight cuts or scrapes, removing earth and stone from her hooves and whisk the dirt from her legs and body. It was relaxing for them both. Rennaugh had come to love her horse, her calm and gentle nature, although the mare could often give the other horses educative bites to make sure they behaved. Geralt had told her about his habit of naming all his horses Roach, but because the mare clearly was a leader, Rennaugh called her Empress.

 

After a little more than a week’s travel, the landscape became painfully familiar to her. It was mostly flat, with the Amell mountains shrouded in the atmosphere in the distance, making their grey walls appear misty like milk. They would pass more human settlements and villages now, and they restocked of things she’d missed, such as cheese and bread.

 

She knew they would probably pass her childhood village soon.

 

She halted Empress, who let out a snort. Her two companions looked back in surprise and halted their own mounts.

 

“I…” she realized her wish would seem foolish. But she had no choice. “I would like us to take a detour around this area. I know it will slow us down a bit, but… please,” she pleaded, licking her lips in disquietude.

 

Regis turned his head to see a large mill loom atop a hill in the distance. “This is the area where you grew up, is it not?” he asked. Dettlaff merely watched her, but this time without his usual grim expression.

 

“Yes,” she breathed, “at least ‘til I was about twelve… I would prefer to not revisit if you don’t mind.” Regis nodded, cast a quick glance at his friend, and turned his horse as to make a large circle around the area.

 

That night, Regis left after having set the camp fire. Rennaugh remained in a melancholy state, sitting on top of a fallen tree trunk, gazing into the flames. Dettlaff sat himself down beside her, grazing his palms.

 

“What happened to you here?” he asked.

 

Her eyes met his. She hesitated. Then she gazed into the fire again and sighed, a heavy intake of air that left a knot in her stomach. “My mother used to call it the accident.”

 

She began to tell him the story.

 

~

 

The children from the village would accompany each other on their way to the Sunday school at the chantry. She had lived there for nine years, since she was three, but the other children still didn’t see her as a local. The Skellige girl, they called her, even though she had never set foot on the islands.

 

Suddenly, one of the older boys rushed past her, and nearly pushed her off her feet as he grabbed the bundle of cloth in her hands.

 

“Hey!” she blurted, “give that back!” the bundle contained her lunch, a piece of soft flat bread and a flask of honey-sweetened milk.

 

“Or what, Skellige?” teased the boy in front of her.

 

His name was Martin. His father ran the village wind mill. He was two years older than her, but she was almost as tall as him, and she wasn’t going to let him walk all over her.

 

“Or I’ll smack you in the head, you… nekker dung!” she squinted in anger.

 

“Such a potty-mouth.” He leaned forward to pull her in one of her braids. But she was having none of it.

 

She grabbed his hand, pulled him down, sat herself on him and started beating him with her fists, mostly on his arms as she didn’t really want to hurt him. She actually quite liked Martin. But she’d rather die than let him know. The other children cheered at what they hoped would be a spectacular fight.

 

“Ao, ao, I yield, I yield!” Martin laughed, his hands in front of his face. She yanked her lunch from him and stood up. Blushing, she realized she’d done exactly what he wanted to; to get her close to him. He raised himself up on one elbow and smiled at her, one eye squinting against the sun. The band of children around them sighed in disappointment.

 

Later that day, after Sunday school, he asked her if she wanted to accompany him to the stream.

 

“We shouldn’t,” she said. “There are creatures in the forest nearby.”

 

“Afraid?” he asked, and that was all he needed to say in order to get her to go before him towards the stream, head held high in pride.

 

By the stream, they jumped the rocks that breached the surface, skilfully avoiding the waters.

 

“Penance,” she said, her arms held out from her body to hold her balance as she jumped on another glistening rock.

 

“P-E-N-N…” he spelled, practising todays lesson and jumped after her. The sounds of the stream and the gentle breeze enveloped them.

 

“No, there’s no double n in penance, silly.” She turned to him. He landed so close they had to grab each other’s arms to steady themselves. After a moment of swinging, struggling to regain balance, they stopped and laughed.

 

His warm brown eyes fastened into hers. She felt at rush of heat that did not relate to the excitement of trying not to fall into the water. She considered Martin to be the handsomest boy in the village. His dark hair and beautiful smile seemed to charm everyone.

 

“You know, Skellige,” he said, and reached out a hand to softly grab hold of one of her thick braids, “when we get at little older, we’re going to marry.”

 

Afterwards, she could have cherished that moment. If only the day had turned out differently.

 

“Is that so?” she asked impudently, letting go of him, and jumped from the rock to another and back onto the brink of the stream.

 

“You know,” she continued as she turned towards him, “I do have a name…”

 

Her whole body stiffened as she saw the creature appear in the water behind him. It looked like a horrible, distorted version of an old woman, hair like algae, with blue and grey skin in a sickening complexion. It hissed.

 

Martin only managed to catch her horrified expression before it attacked.

 

“Martin!” Rennaugh yelled, and lunged herself towards him. He screamed as the creature dragged him underwater.

 

Rennaugh didn’t think. Hand outstretched, she willed the hag out of the water with her powers, catching it kicking and screaming in mid-air. It must have been surprised, because it let go of the boy who, although injured, rose and struggled to reach the brink, splashing and panting.

 

Rennaugh flung the horrid thing aside in the air with a gesture of her arm, turned around to catch Martin’ hand, and ran. She heard the creature scream and snarl behind them.

 

Although he bled from a wound in his side, they ran until their lungs nearly collapsed. Not far from the village, they stopped, panting and moaning, almost on top of each other.

 

“What was that?” he whimpered, hand held pressed to his side. When he lifted it, he exposed a long scratch on his ribs, but it didn’t seem life-threatening.

 

“I don’t know,” she panted, struggling to not hurl the insides of her stomach to the ground from exhaustion and from the memory of the monster.

 

He turned his eyes on her. “What did you do?”

 

She fell silent. A cold shiver ran from the back of her neck down her spine.

 

“Are you some kind of… witch?” he asked.

 

Her silence was an answer in itself.

 

Only a week later, her family moved from the village to Cintra city after the miller threatened to give her up to the chantry. Her sisters were only two years and two months old.

 

As they left their old house and hoisted their packing on the waggon that would take them to the city, Martin and a couple of his friends approached her. He had recovered well from the attack of the water hag.

 

“Freak,” he hissed, and spat on the ground.

 

Apart from the death of her father, it was the single most awful moment of her life.

 

~

 

When she finished the story, she couldn’t hold back another heavy sigh. She wrapped her arms around her torso as of to protect herself from the pain of the memory. It was ridiculous of her to still be so frigging hurt by the memory, she thought. But she felt her eyesight blur from tears anyway.

 

“I’m sorry,” Dettlaff suddenly announced. He had been watching her during her recital of the memory, the wrinkle between his eyebrows deeper than usual. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

 

He moved closer, and hesitantly raised one hand to gently caress her cheek with the back of his fingers. Her lips trembled slightly, and she didn’t know if it was from the memory or from the feeling of his touch.

 

She tried to thank him, but the words got stuck in her throat.

 

He wrapped an arm around her, and she leaned her head on his shoulder.

 

It was awkward, and yet beautiful. She was soon filled with a warmth that emanated from her chest and spread all the way out to her fingers.

 

She felt gratitude. 

 

Then she remembered his face close to the bruxa’s. A heavy stone fell in her chest. She mustn’t forget why they were here. She wasn’t the only one hurting. She lifted her head from his shoulder and turned to him. “We’ll find him, Dettlaff. The one who hurt your… her.“

 

He turned to look at her, a questioning expression in his face. “What?” he said, and lowered his arm from her shoulders.

 

“The woman in Amell mountains, the bruxa,” she explained, feeling like a fool, her blush blooming all over her face, “I know you two were, um…” she couldn’t finish her words.

 

He looked at her and shook his head, “No,” he said, “we were never…”

 

They were interrupted by Regis. He saw them sitting close, her blush nearly as bright as the setting sun, and wondered what he had just missed.

 

*

 

Back in Lan Exeter, Triss had received another letter from Yen. This time, it was sent to their apartment. Although feeling slightly exhausted from another day of preparing the school of magi and continuing her diplomacy towards the nobility to gain their support for the project, she opened the letter and began reading.

 

 _Dear Triss, and so on_ , she read,

_I’m sure you’re dying to know about my further inquiries about the ancient sorceresses of the Skellige isles, no? Well, I happened to meet a scholar, an historian specialized in Skellige lore, and after a few glasses of wine, he shared the most fantastic stories. Apparently, the Dathmori, as I told you about in my last letter, are believed to be defeated by a brotherhood of jealous male mages, who apparently found a way to disrupt the powers of the ixas. After killing their arch-norna, the mages quickly dispersed of the remaining sorceresses, and ever since, only men are allowed to hold magical powers on the Skellige isles. These mages are the forefathers to today’s druids! This is all nearly forgotten now, but according to the historian (a very unpleasant fellow by the way, I had to use a sleep spell to prevent him from ogling too deep into my dress) there are supposed to be more tomes that weren’t destroyed by the druids!_

_If you don’t mind, I’m going to travel to the Skellige isles in about two weeks to find out more. I promise to keep you updated!_

Triss leaned back in her chair and shook her head slowly. She really hoped Yen wouldn't get herself in trouble over of this.

 

*

 

Another day of travelling on the roads ensued for Rennaugh and her companions. They passed more villages, nearing Cintra city. During a night at their camp, Rennaugh realized the Skellige tradition of Midaëte, midsummer’s eve, had passed. Regis asked her more about the traditions of Skellige, and she admitted that she knew little besides Midaëte. Dettlaff stood slightly behind them, veiled in the shadows from the warmth of the camp fire, leaning against a tree.

 

“My mother told me of the Skellige belief, that the veil that separates the realm of the spirits and the realm of men weakens during midsummer’s eve,” Rennaugh recounted. She smiled. “It is also said, that if a girl winds a wreath of guelder rose and places it upon her head during that night, she will dream of her future husband. There’s even a song about it.”

 

“Can you sing it?” Regis beseeched.

 

“I… I can try,” she said in surprise, hesitating for a moment, trying to remember the words.

 

Then she began:

 

_Wreath wound of guelder rose_

_Placed upon your hair_

_A gentle laugh overflows_

_Like moonshine in light air_

_Tis’ the night of the yearly dance_

_By the woodland lake_

_Invited by the mist to enhance_

_Your steps like falling flakes_

_The moon in the sky above_

_A halo on your head_

_Tonight, a dream of one true love_

_Foreseen whom you will wed._

Only the crackling sounds of the fire interrupted the profound silence that fell after she had sung the last words. Regis looked at her warmly, as if in slight awe. “It’s a beautiful song”, he said.

 

Dettlaff broke from the shadows behind them and sat down next to Regis. “You’re… you sing well,” he muttered.

 

She smiled and turned her gaze to the camp fire. “Thank you”, she whispered, her heart taking an extra beat from his compliment.

 

“So, tell me,” Regis asked with a smile playing in the corner of his mouth, “did you ever bind a wreath and dreamed of a future husband?”

 

She gave him a mischievous smile. “Of course I did.”

 

“Ah, and was he a knight in shining armour?”, Regis continued, “Or a handsome, rugged farmer? Perhaps, oh I know!” the grey-haired vampire smiled at his own teasing, “a Skellige warrior, of course, with a large beard and an axe!”

 

She laughed.

 

Dettlaff however, seemed to grow sullener the more alternatives to an imagined husband his friend presented to her.

 

“These superstitions of humans are nothing but trouble,” he suddenly growled, his expression grim as he stared into the flames of their camp fire.

 

Rennaugh looked at him in surprise. She felt a protest rise in her chest.

 

“That’s not fair,” she began, struggling to find the right words, but he continued.

 

“Think about how they treat the likes of you.” He turned his eyes on her. “You are a sorceress. Wherever you go, you must hide your abilities, lest the humans kill you. They will burn you on a stake.”

 

Rennaugh’s chest ached in anger and sorrow. She remembered her step-father’s words. _You know what they do to creatures like her. They burn them._

 

“You know this,” Dettlaff continued. “They hate what you are, because they are foolish, and because they are afraid.”

 

Rennaugh wanted to reprimand him. She rose to her feet, arms crossed as if to shield her from her emotions. She thought of her sisters. The way Aslaug would embrace her and giggle into the crook of her neck. How Ylja would wrap her tiny arm around her leg and point at every flower, every insect, wanting to know their name. She thought of the memories of her father nearly faded, of a bearded face kissing her cheek before saying good night.

 

This was not the connection she wanted to share with him. To both be hated. To be united by hatred for others.

 

“Rennaugh…” Dettlaff approached her. He tried to lay his hand on her shoulder, but she retracted from him.

 

“They’re not all the same.”

 

“You’re not. You are different.”

 

“I’m still human, Dettlaff.”

 

He clenched his large fists, his eyebrows knitted in frustration. “You would still defend them, after all they’ve done to you? After all they will do to you?”

 

She let out her arms in a gesture she wanted to convey anger, but her eyes begged him to understand. “I won’t hate people for being afraid!” 

 

He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes stern. “Then you are too naïve. You will…”

 

They were interrupted by Regis. He observed the scene, his friend and his apprentice, both equally flustered over their argument.

 

“Dettlaff,” Regis almost coldly stated, holding his hand over the leather band to his bag of herbs in his characteristic gesture, “this argument is pointless. It is not fruitful for any of you.”

 

Neither of them answered, instead, Rennaugh broke from the proximity of the raven-haired vampire and walked away to stand just inside the circle of light made by the camp fire. They both watched her as she stopped, one arm around her waist and the other placed on her chest, her fingertips against her lips in an unhappy expression.

 

Regis turned to the younger vampire.

 

“You, my friend,“ he said softly, shaking his head with a pitiful smile, “are an idiot.”

 

Rennaugh never turned to see the momentary expression of pain in Dettlaff's face from knowing he had hurt her.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Rennaugh sings is a remade version of [Visa i midsommartid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fGTKebnCv40), a popular midsummer's eve song from Sweden. 
> 
> According to Swedish tradition, it is believed that if you pick seven (or nine, depending on region) flowers and put them under your pillow at night during midsummer's eve, you will dream of the one you're going to marry. I changed it a bit for this story.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There has been a slight change in the story! I originally intended for the following two chapters to be one long (in comparison to the others) chapter, but decided to split it into two due to emotional intensity and "rythm". So, the story now has 14 chapters!

They cleared camp the next day in weighty silence. It was a cloudy day, which suited them as travels in hot weather was not comfortable for any of them.

 

Regis shook his head at the morose, pensive expression on his friend’s face, and at the way his apprentice avoided to look at the other vampire.

 

Before taking departure, Rennaugh carefully approached Regis in a way that made him understand she wanted to ask him of something. “Regis…” she began, and he turned his calm, black eyes on her. 

 

“What is it, Rennaugh?” he replied.

 

“We are approaching Cintra city. I would like to take a few hours and just…” she closed her mouth and inhaled before continuing. “I would like to visit my mother, and my sisters. Just for a short while. We’ll be close enough tonight.”

 

Regis couldn’t help but to frown in disapproval. “It is risky, Rennaugh. How are you going to handle your stepfather? I don’t wish to see you get arrested by the city guards.”

 

“I know”, she answered, “but I’m fairly sure that…”

 

They were interrupted by Dettlaff, who had been tending to the mounts and not heard their conversation. As he approached them, he held her gaze in his, and she felt the familiar extra heartbeat against her ribs whenever he was close.

 

Her chest ached. She wished them to reconcile after last night, but she didn’t know how, if it could be done right. She knew she cared for him, but she would not live in hate, like he did. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t open his mouth.

 

Regis interrupted the somewhat gauche atmosphere. “Rennaugh was just telling me she wishes to visit her mother and her sisters tonight as we pass Cintra city. I told her it is not safe.”

 

The younger vampire scowled. “Regis is right. You’ll get yourself in trouble.”

 

She lifted her chin slightly, a retort on her tongue. Then she realized having an argument was pointless. She had made up her mind. Her chest heaved in a deep sigh. “I have to,” she simply stated.

 

The two vampires both crossed their arms in a simultaneous movement that would have made her smile had it been another situation. “We can’t stop you from going, Rennaugh.” Regis remarked, “Just, be careful.”

 

She nodded, breathless.

 

They continued towards Cintra city in silence. During one of their short breaks, Dettlaff left, telling them to venture further and that he would join them later. Surprised, they watched him disappear into the woods.

 

He came back late in the afternoon. Although he would nearly always have that grim look on his face, Rennaugh had learned the nuances in his expression, and in that moment, she saw… was it concentration? Something about the way his lips were pressed together. She noticed he held something in his hands, something he hid from them.

 

She didn’t ask. It didn’t seem like the right thing to do.

 

 

*

  

“Rennaugh?”

 

Dettlaff approached her. They had traveled throughout the day towards the Yaruga, the river that separated Cintra from Brugge, their camp not far from Cintra city. It was getting late. The moon hung over their heads like a shining beacon.

 

She turned to him. To think of it, it had not been long ago since she’d first heard that voice and nearly panicked in fear. His sombre features, although handsome, had made her feel unease. Now, all those feelings were replaced with something else entirely, although she didn’t know how to properly name the fluttering in her chest whenever he was close. It was a feeling close to ecstasy and melancholy at the same time.

 

He was holding something in his hands she couldn’t quite discern in the evening dusk.

 

“I still think this is unwise. But if you are determined to go…” she watched him in surprise as he seemed to hesitate, weighing his words.

 

“Take these. For your sisters. Perhaps they will remind them of you. To let them know you still care.”

 

He handed her the objects in his hands. They were two miniature horses, each carved from a single wooden block, one a shade lighter than the other. The details of the animals were impressive, from their tiny hooves to their manes and eloquent eyes that made them seem nearly alive. They were covered in a savory oil to make them smooth as silk.

 

“You… you made these?” They were exquisite. It would be the first real toys her sisters had ever had.

 

She stared at the horses in complete awe. Nothing could have prepared her for this kind of gift.

  

It was the single most beautiful thing anyone had ever done for her.  

  

There were some significant ‘before and after’ in her life. Before and after the death of her father. Before and after the birth of her sisters. Before and after the first accident. Before and after the separation from her family.  

  

She knew now there would be a before and after Dettlaff.  

  

“Oh thank you,” she whispered, her vision blurring from her tears, “thank you so much.” Before having finished the sentence, she flung herself at him, embracing him. And before she had any time to consider her actions, she closed her eyes and gently pressed her lips against his. 

 

Her senses filled with him, the frame of his shoulders, the touch of his hair under her hands, the slight scrape of his jaw. A feeling close to euphoria filled her as she could feel his hands on the small of her back, pulling her closer.

 

Then he ripped himself from her.  

 

She felt like glass shattered inside her. He placed a hand over his face and turned away. She could see his entire body stiffen in agitation.

 

“Dettlaff, I’m…” she reached out a hand to touch him. 

  

“No!” he blurted, and with restrain, he repeated his “no” but with less force. She drew her hand away. Her heart hammered in her chest from the wave of pain that crashed in her.

 

“I promised I would never let myself be fooled again,” he growled. “Go.” He turned a menacing gaze on her. She almost recoiled, but stood still as heated determination filled her chest.

 

“That’s not what this is!” She tried to hold her voice steady. “I care for you, Dettlaff, truly. Please,” she pleaded as he retracted from her even more.

 

Chest aching, she watched him slowly transform into his other form, his face wrinkled and bat-like, his posture hunching, large claws sprouting from his hands. “You say you care,” he growled with the raspy voice that belonged to his monstrous form, “but you don’t know what I am. What I have done.” His fangs glistened in the moonlight.

 

She felt a rush of defiance rising in her chest, and kept her shoulders squared. She wanted to protest, but looking into his eyes, she saw a flicker of pain.

 

She realized he was afraid. Afraid that she would never accept this part of him.

 

“But I do know some important things about you,” she began, trying to ignore the slight tremble in her voice, “I know you once saved Regis’ life, nearly sacrificing your own to do so. I know you’ve saved mine. I know you have loved, and that you have been betrayed and lied to.” She slowly walked towards him as she spoke. His chest heaving, he watched her warily as she stepped close.

 

“I know you love beautiful things, and that you make beautiful things,” she continued, and let her fingers graze over the golden, moth-shaped brooch pinned to his coat. She carefully lifted her hand to his face, gazing into his now small, black eyes underneath a wrinkled, ivory forehead.

 

He flinched. “What are you doing?” he hissed.

 

She slowly placed her arms around him, carefully avoiding his claw-shaped hands that were hanging at his sides as she moved into his space. “I’m embracing you,” she answered in a whisper. Her heart beat like a drum. For just a moment, he stood still as her cheek softly brushed against his. Then he backed away from her, his eyes flashing, fangs visible.

 

“I am a monster!” he nearly screamed in his raspy voice, “I could hurt you! I killed _her!_ ” Slowly, he transformed to his human form, letting his hands rise to his face as he repeated, “I killed her.”

 

She carefully weighed her words. She wanted to tell him how differently she saw him. She’d seen men commit monstrous acts. It was no monster standing in front of her.

 

“I know,” she said softly. “And there is a part of me that think she deserved it. She deceived you and used you. She made you commit horrendous acts, so she could get her revenge. _She_ was the monster, not you.” She took a shuddering breath. “But I also believe she was made the way she was. Had she not been subjected to that ridiculous superstition, had her parents not turned her away, perhaps none of it would have happened. She was just a child…”

 

He held her gaze as she spoke, his face twisted in agony. “Has Regis told you about how I threatened to kill everyone in Beauclair if she wouldn’t come to me and tell me about her lies?” his voice hardened. “and I would have,” he concluded, his fists clenching, eyes burning.

 

She flinched. This was a part of his history she was not aware of. Suddenly, she saw the monstrous side of him. Her pulse staggered.

 

“Now you see me for what I really am,” he said, and she heared the pain in his voice, saw it in the way his body slanted.

 

The sound of her blood rushed in her ears. She couldn’t close her eyes to this.

 

Then she thought of her own fear as the mountains called for her to move them. She knew she also possessed the power to destroy, but didn’t, simply because she didn’t want to. She didn’t know, she concluded, what it felt like to be betrayed like he had been. She didn’t know how she would have acted had it been her. The weight of the miniature horses burned in her pocket.

 

This was a man who had killed and who had saved lives. Who had displayed cruelty and kindness. He had shown her compassion and generosity. He was all that. And she knew she didn’t fear him. She couldn’t.

 

She took a step closer to him. “All that you have done is part of who you are. I know you’re hurting.” She held out a hand to him. “But you can’t hate yourself for it forever. You can’t continue to hate her, nor humans, for what she did. You mustn’t continue to live in hate. You are so much more…”

 

When she took one more step closer, he shook his head, backing away from her. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this,” he nearly whispered.

 

Her eyes teared up as her desperation rose. “No, don’t say that,” her voice was thick with tears. “Perhaps you think you’ll never be able to trust again, but as long as you care, she couldn’t have destroyed that part of you.” A tear fell on her cheek and she couldn’t stop herself from sniffling. “I know you care about me. Dettlaff, please.”

 

He continued to back away from her. In a cloud of mist, he was gone.

 

She let out a whimper, feeling another hot tear fall on her face. Her heart ached as if it had been pierced by a blade.

 

For a few moments, she stood with eyes closed, the hand that had been outstretched to him clenched against her heart.

 

Then she lifted her head and tried her best to gather her wits together. She had a mission this night. There were others that needed to know she cared.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe we all have the potential to be monsters, or at least, to commit monstrous acts. 
> 
> We rise and we fall,  
> And we break,  
> And we make our mistakes
> 
> Sometimes we meet people who draw out those sides in us. Perhaps because they too, are broken.
> 
> Sometimes, if we're lucky, we meet others who encourage us to be the best person we can be. 
> 
> (Lyrics Lin-Manuel Miranda, Wait for it)


	10. Chapter 10

As Rennaugh crossed the bridge the led to the city gates and entered them, she had to stifle an absurd impulse to cling against the walls. She pulled the hood of her cape around her. _Act naturally_ , she implored herself in her mind, _don’t bring attention to yourself_. She could still feel the gaze of the guards on her back as she passed them.

 

Suddenly, a voice rang through the air. “Hey, you there!” She froze. Her heart nearly stopped. A guard came up to her. She turned to face him, her palms sweaty.

 

“You dropped something,” he said from within his helmet, and handed her one of the miniature horses that had fallen from her pocket.

 

Her relief was so great she felt her head spin. “Oh, thank you sir!” she said and smiled.

 

“What is the purpose of your visit?” the guard continued and peered inquisitively into her eyes. She managed not to tremble. She was prepared for the question. “I’m from a nearby village. I’ve come to find work in one of the taverns.” She could see the smile in his eyes.

 

“Are you, eh?” he laughed, “go to the Hound and Goose! Best damn pub in Cintra! I might be going there after my watch! You’ll give me a discount on a pint, won’t you lass?” he blinked at her.

 

Her knees shook, but she managed to cast a wide smile at him. “Of course, sir!”

 

She took the toy from the guard’s hand, thanked him and hurried off into the city. 

 

Although it was late, the streets were anything but empty. People of various kinds stepped on the pavement stones that glistened in the light of the lamps; shady characters, workers, beggars, townsfolk heading home or to the inns and taverns. The sounds of the city were so familiar to her: the creak of wagons, coughs and chit chat, laughter and the occasional angry reprimand, someone softly singing from an open window. She turned left at the fountain by the city square towards Lowtown, the local name for the poorer areas of the city. It didn’t take long until she passed the first fisstech-addict.

 

She wasn’t sure if she was going to be able to see her mother. She just knew she needed to avoid her stepfather. She hoped he was out on one of his usual pub rounds. Her chest burned of disaffection from the thought.

 

Just when she neared the home she had left so abruptly no more than just a few months ago, she recognized a familiar figure coming from the direction of the docks. “Mother,” she whispered.

 

She needed to get her attention. She called her mother’s name as quietly as possible.

 

“Bergphóra!”

 

Her mother looked up in surprise, and seemed to freeze on the spot as she recognized her eldest daughter. She hastily came up to her and enclosed her in her arms. “Rennaugh!” she breathed, and with stressed movements, Rennaugh's mother dragged her by the shoulders into a narrow street between two houses, shrouding them in the shadows.

 

There they stood for a long moment, embracing, her mother emitting a mix of laughter and stifled sniffles. She finally placed her hands on her daughter’s shoulders, and looked her in the eyes. “What are you doing here!” she whispered, “did you never leave?”

 

“I did,” Rennaugh answered her in a faint voice, “I managed to go to Kovir. I met Triss Merigold. She helped me, just like you said.” They held each other by their arms, both smiling gratefully at her words. “Oh, thank the gods,” her mother echoed herself from that day she woke up in Triss’ and Geralt’s apartment. She lifted a hand to caress her daughter’s hair. “You look so well. My beautiful Rennaugh.”

 

Rennaugh had to admit her mother also looked well. She could see no signs of bruises or cuts in her face from her step-father’s violence, she seemed healthy and stronger than before, and her eyes were clear and alert. “How are you?” She asked, “is he…”

 

Her mother smiled reassuringly.  “I’m well, we’re all well,” she quickly answered. “Things have been… alright.”

 

“Does he still hit you?” Rennaugh coldly asked. Her mother shook her head. “Not since you left. I think…” her mother went silent, a flash of shame in her eyes. “I think, now that you are gone, he can’t threaten me anymore. He’s come to the realization that I only stay because I choose to, not because he has a hold over me.”

 

A wave of bitterness rushed through Rennaugh. Her hands tightened slightly around her mother’s arms as she spoke. “Why do you stay with him? Why?” her last word came out between gritted teeth. She wanted to convey her anger.

 

Her mother’s eyes pleaded. “Please Rennaugh, you must understand, he is not an evil man” she began, but Rennaugh let go of her grasp.

 

“I will never understand!” she interrupted her mother, who worryingly tried to shush her. “I hate him!” Rennaugh finally sputtered, her voice lowered this time, but hard like granite.

 

“Please Rennaugh,” her mother pleaded, “it was not easy for him after the accident.” Rennaugh flinched before she understood her mother was talking about the happening at the mill and not _the_ accident. “It was shameful for him to not find any other employment. But he has been better. He’s at home now, with the girls. He’s understood he needs to be there for them more - now that you are gone. He doesn’t drink as much anymore, almost not at all.”

 

Rennaugh couldn’t help but to let her heart soften at her mother’s words, but the bitterness still ached in her body. “But why were you the one that had to suffer when he was injured?” she whispered, more from pain than from wanting no one to notice them.

 

Her mother eyes conveyed shame. "There is no excuse for what he has done. Just know that things are better now,” she answered, “and you know, he’s never laid a hand on any of you…”

 

Rennaugh closed her eyes in anger and shook her head. Her mother tried so hard to defend the man that had hurt her so much.

 

“Your sisters miss you”, her mother said softly. “They cried for weeks. They talk about you when he is not around.” Rennaugh remembered Dettlaff’s gift. The thought of their conversation earlier tugged at her chest, but she reached for the pocket in her cape for the miniature horses. She laid them in her mother’s hands.

 

“Can you give these to them?”

 

Her mother took the toys in astonishment. “They are so beautiful!” she whispered, “how did you get these?”

 

Rennaugh stared at the horses with a smile that was a mix of affection and sadness. “Someone gave them to me,” she breathed.

 

Her mother peered inquisitively into her face. “I believe that someone truly cares for you,” she whispered with a soft smile. “Did you come here with him?”

 

Rennaugh should have been surprised, but her mother had always been so intuitive. She looked her in the eye, and nodded. She knew her face conveyed all her feelings in that moment. “Oh, my sweetheart,” was the only thing her mother said, before embracing her again. Then she released her.

 

“I must go back now, I should have been home long ago.” Rennaugh trembled as her mother caressed her hair one last time. “I love you. Please take care of yourself. And Rennaugh…” She held her gaze in her daughter’s eyes. “Don’t come here again. It’s too dangerous.”

 

*

 

To her great relief, the jovial guard that earlier spoke to her at the gates had finished his watch, replaced by another guard. They simply nodded at her as she passed them on her way out. She sighed in relief.

 

A cavity of pain opened in her chest as she left the city gates behind her. She knew, irrevocably now, that she would never see her family again. That their lives were easier with her gone. Her absence has changed the way her step-father treated her mother and her sisters. It was a strange feeling, to be relieved by that which simultaneously grieved her so much.

 

Then, as struck by lightning, she stopped mid-step.

 

Who was she to speak to Dettlaff about not living in hate, when she herself felt such bitterness and rage towards her stepfather? How could she be so two-faced?

 

The realization hurt. She wanted to hold on to her hate. It gave her strength. She didn’t want to understand her stepfather, to forgive him. She didn’t want to admit that her mother stayed with him, although he had wronged her, probably because she loved him.

 

She thought about why she didn’t want Dettlaff to live in hate. Because she cared about him. Because as long as he hated, he was still the beast of Beauclair.

 

It was time for her to move on, too. Did she not care about herself, her own person?

 

She thought about all the different happenings that led to her stepfather to be who he was. She knew very little about his childhood, except that he came from a poor family, and that his mother died young. Had he felt loved as a child? She thought about how he was ridiculed when he lost his fingers and couldn’t work. Why did such an absurd notion exist, that even if you were gravely injured, you should feel shame for not being able to work? Why, if a husband was unable to work, was it seen as shameful that his wife worked instead of him to feed her family?

 

She also realized, although these ridiculous norms and idiotic understandings exist and affect everyone who are subjected to them, her stepfather made a choice. He chose to hurt her mother rather than stand up for himself.

 

She concluded her stepfather was weak. But she knew she didn’t want to hate him anymore.

 

“Goodbye,” she whispered as she took a last look at the city where she had spent her teenage years.

 

She slowly walked back to where Regis and Dettlaff had made camp.

 

*

 

Regis was alone when she reached the camp. She felt a tug in her heart when she thought about the reason for Dettlaff’s absence. The older vampire greeted her, and carefully asked how her visit to the city had gone.

 

She sighed in melancholy as she let the flames from the campfire warm her face. “It was a goodbye,” she merely said. He nodded. She put her arms around herself. They sat in silence together for a while, a silence that wasn’t heavy or uncomfortable. The caw of a crow and the slight screech of cicadas reached their ears.

 

After a few moments, she reopened her mouth. “Regis, have you ever been in love?”

 

The old vampire laughed, a short friendly chuckle that made her turn her face to his. “Oh, my dear Rennaugh.” he said, “what has he done now?”

 

She felt her face go warm from other reasons than the fire. “I… told him I care.”

 

Regis tilted his head and smiled. “And how did our gloomy friend respond?”

 

She hesitated before answering his question. “He’s afraid.” She let out a sigh.

 

“He is,” Regis confirmed, “he is afraid of his feelings and of himself. It’s not easy for him to trust. But believe me when I say that I’ve seen his ice melt in your presence, and that I know he’ll soon return.” He shook his head softly. “Give him time. He’s been very hurt, as you know.”

 

She nodded at his words. She looked him in the eye.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me about Dettlaff threatening to kill everyone in Beauclair?”

 

He pressed his lips together and sighed heavily. “Because I didn’t want you to see him as a monster. I know he did it out of despair. He is not evil.”

 

She nodded. “I know,” she whispered.

 

Regis looked at her for a moment, his eyes conveying relief.

 

“But to answer your first question,” he continued and shifted in place as to start a long story, a smile playing in the corners of his mouth, “I have had my share of romantic adventures. But the ability to love is quite extraordinary for Dettlaff. He is very special in that way; passionate, and with an emotional depth that is rare among vampires.”

 

“I knew he was involved in this,” a rasping voice said behind them. Rennaugh jumped in place and Regis turned around in surprise. It was Geralt, walking up to them with a deep scowl in his bearded face, his griffin armor shining in the moonlight and his two swords visible behind his back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the main purpose of this chapter was to let Rennaugh face her own demons. There will be more action in the next chapter, I promise! 
> 
> Hope you are having a great day ~


	11. Chapter 11

At first, Geralt’s appearance gladdened Rennaugh to the core of her heart. Then she felt shame, as she knew he must have been worried. Regis remained calm, knowing their reunion would not be a happy one. Confirming this premonition, Geralt started by affirming that Rennaugh was alright, and as she nodded, he turned to Regis with a menacing look.

 

He’d never felt so disappointed with his friend before in his life. “Regis,” he said, his voice hard, “are you out of your mind, taking her here? Why the hell did you lie to Marlene and Barnabus-Basil about going out for only one week? I swear to you, if Dettlaff is behind this in any way, I’ll kill him…” He almost recoiled from the loud protest that fell from Rennaugh’s lips.

 

“No, Geralt please!” she pleaded, looking up into his yellow cat eyes, “I was the one who convinced Regis to come here! Dettlaff came to us asking for help, we couldn’t just turn him down…”

 

Geralt stared into her eyes in surprise, only to regain his frown. “Do you even know who he is?” he growled, “what he has done? That man is extremely dangerous…”

 

“I have told her everything,” Regis interrupted, standing with his shoulders squared and his hands on the leather string of his pouch.

 

Geralt took a step towards him, his anger evident in his stiffened shoulders. “I told you I didn’t want her to meet him! I trusted you!”

 

The vampire sighed heavily. “I know. I abused that trust. I am sorry.”

 

Geralt was furious. “Then why the hell did you do it?”

 

Regis looked Geralt straight in the eye, his expression calm. “Because I knew she was the kind of person he needed to meet.”

 

Rennaugh’s eyes moved between the two men, one silent and stern, the other stiff from anger. “You’ve endangered her life with this foolishness,” the white-haired man finally said between gritted teeth, his frown deep.

 

She stepped forward. “No, Geralt,” she said calmly, “I’ve never been in any danger from Dettlaff. In fact, he has saved my life once.” She placed her hand on his arm. “Please, let us tell you everything, and I know you’ll understand.”

 

Although the witcher looked like he contemplated knocking his companions out with an Aard blast to bring them back to Touissant on his shoulders, he finally sighed in agreement.

 

Suddenly, Regis bent forward and let out a near silent moan as if in pain. His two friends turned around. Rennaugh hurried up to him and placed her arm around his shoulders, “Regis, what’s wrong?” she asked worryingly.

 

He looked up out into the night. “It’s… Dettlaff,” he said, nearly croaking, “something’s… not right.”

 

She felt a shiver of cold run down her spine. “No,” she whispered.

 

Then she did something she’d never done before. She closed her eyes, and searched for Dettlaff’s energies. They called for her, from afar, well into the forest. Even with the distance, she could feel how they were pointed and searing with pain. In panic, she closed the connection and opened her eyes. “He’s hurt!” she nearly screamed, “he’s in the forest!”

 

She let go of Regis, and ran towards Empress, who greeted her with a snort. Not even bothering to saddle her mount, Rennaugh jumped up and was just about to break into a gallop as Regis and Geralt ran up to her. “Rennaugh, wait,” the white-haired man implored.

 

She looked down on him from her horse and tried to plead to him. “I’m sorry Geralt, I need to go to him.” Then, she was off.

 

Swearing, Geralt whistled after Roach, and quickly followed suit. He’d had an impulse to let that crazy girl go fend for herself, but he knew Triss would kill him if he didn’t make sure she was alright. Regis stood silent for a moment, before pursuing his two friends by dematerializing into mist.

 

Geralt reached her as they entered the forest. Her horse stepped worryingly in its place, afraid of the darkness that enclosed them. “Rennaugh,” he tried to make her stop, but she jumped off and ventured deeper into the woods. He dismounted Roach, and took out a torch from the bags fastened to the saddle. He could do nothing but follow her. A light breeze tousled his hair fastened half-way on the back of his head. The light from the torch grazed her figure as it moved further into the forest. Instinctively, he unsheathed his silver sword.

 

Suddenly, they reached a small clearing, where she stopped. He came up to her and directed the light of his torch and his gaze next to her. The area showed signs of a fight. The grass was kicked from its roots, and fresh blood stained the leaves on the ground. Regis appeared behind them, materializing from the mist. He walked up to them and squatted on the ground to examine the stain.

 

“This is Dettlaff’s blood” he concluded with a knot between his eyebrows.

 

Geralt turned to him with a questioning frown in his face. “How is that even possible?” he asked and looked around. “I see traces of about ten men here, that’s no match for a higher vampire.”

 

He felt a hand on his arm. It was Rennaugh, looking at him with eyes wide. “Because he doesn’t want to kill anymore.” Her eyes moved with the flames of his torch.

 

Regis nodded silently, a wistful expression in his face.

 

Geralt had enough. He folded his arms on his chest. “You’re going to tell me everything that’s happened up until tonight.” He turned his stern, yellow gaze on both his companions.

 

“No, there’s no time for that,” she began to protest, her face twisted with anxiety, but she was interrupted by Regis.

 

“Geralt is right, Rennaugh. We owe him that much. Besides, Dettlaff’s still alive. Can you feel it?” She hesitated for a moment, but closed her eyes. She felt the energies still moving, still in pain, but more calmly now. She reopened her eyes, nodding.

 

Geralt knew they would find the vampire. Although he couldn’t detect him with his witcher senses, his captors had made a mess rampaging through the forest. Following their traces would be easy.

 

Regis tried to reassure his apprentice. “If they’ve taken him to the fortress, there is still little we can to in the dark. Dawn is only a few hours away. You need rest.”

 

Rennaugh felt the fatigue from the long day burn behind her eyelids, but she didn’t understand how she could sleep now. She admitted she wouldn’t be able find Dettlaff on her own, neither to fight his captors without Regis and Geralt. She wasn’t sure she could fight at all.

 

The trio found shelter just a few steps away, and with his torch fastened to the ground to give some protection from whatever animals and creatures that thrived in the darkness, Geralt sat down on a fallen tree trunk to let Regis tell him the full story of what had happened since the last time they’d met. Rennaugh spread her cape underneath her and listened, but to her surprise, her exhaustion took over hand, and soon, she slept.

 

*

 

Geralt woke her up at sunrise. They shared a hasty meal before venturing off to find the fortress. Just before they left, she halted him by placing herself in front of him. “Geralt,” she implored, “Please don’t hurt him. Just… please.”

 

The witcher felt conflicted. He knew Dettlaff was not an evil man. But he also knew the vampire was dangerous and unpredictable. He had sworn to kill him should they meet again, and he had made a promise to Anna Henrietta.

 

Yet, listened to Regis' story of why they were in the forest, and knew it echoed what the duchess had told him about the idiotic competition to kill the beast of Beauclair. Evidently, Dettlaff had not killed although he’d been hurt. He was Regis’s friend, and it was obvious the girl cared for him. Geralt frowned, but shook his head to reassure her. He made the decision to spare the vampire’s life again.

 

“I won’t, unless he proves to be the killer I met in Touissant. Do you hear me Rennaugh?” he assured her with a voice that could shatter stone. “If he hurts anyone again, I will kill him. He may be immortal, but I can cut him up enough to take decades to recover. But for now, I’ll help you find him.”

 

He could see the muscles in her jaw stiffen, but she nodded.

 

It was a cloudy day, and the air smelled of rain. They easily followed the broken branches, kicked dirt and bent leaves that outlined the traces of the men that had captured Dettlaff. It didn’t take more than an hour to find the fortress.

 

It was built in the form of a hexagon, with battlements overlooking the forest, although the western side of the walls was almost completely broken down by some kind of siege weapon. Poison ivy crept over the stone walls and pedestals, and to the south, facing them, was a typical wooden gate, opened by large iron chains.

 

Geralt silently pointed towards the battlements, and then in front of the gate. Guards were posted on strategic places over the fortress, guarding certain choke points. “The guards on the further most battlements and directly in front of the gates are our biggest problem,” he muttered, all the while applying hanged man’s venom to his iron sword.

 

Rennaugh observed the scene from their hidden position. She felt Dettlaff's energies, much closer now, and closed the connection to not be overcome by fear and anxiety. He was still alive.

 

Then she had an idea. It was absurd, and she didn’t know if it would work. 

 

“Do you see that waggon?” she whispered. Both directed their gaze towards where she pointed, and nodded. Just next to the gate, a waggon intended for living cargo stood fastened. Geralt squinted in an expression that told her he wanted her to tell him more. “It’s caged,” she explained “I can use it to imprison the guards in front of the gates. I think”.

 

Geralt seemed sceptical, but Regis nodded. “What about the guards on the battlements?” Geralt nearly hissed, “they have bows.”

 

Regis calmly put a hand on his shoulder. “Leave them to me.” He turned his face to Rennaugh. “Go ahead my dear,” he said.

 

Determination rose in her chest by the support and trust in Regis’s eyes. Lifting her palms, she concentrated on the bolts and screws that held the iron cage to the wooden carriage. They sprinted loose, and the cage hovered slowly in the air, towards the guards. At first, they didn’t notice anything, until one of them looked up and tugged his fellow’s arm as the cage flew over their heads. Sheepishly, all three guards gaped at the floating cage, and did not react fast enough as it slammed down on their helmets with a clang. Rennaugh gritted her teeth as she forced the cage down into the earth deep enough to stay grounded. The guards let out surprised protests, forced to their hands and knees, trapped inside. The bowmen on the battlements reacted to their yells.

 

“Go, now!” Geralt growled, and Rennaugh noticed Regis was already gone when she leaped from their hideout and ran as fast as she could, past the trapped guards and through the gates.

 

She entered a vast court yard containing barracks, a stable and a forge. It opened towards a massive, centered staircase. On its top loomed another large gate. _They must’ve taken him there!_ She ran towards the doorway, her chest burning from the effort and the anxiety of what they might find behind it. In the crook of her eye, she barely spotted the mist of Regis creeping up on the remaining soldiers on the battlements, slicing them through with his enormous claws. She had never seen his monstrous form before. But she didn’t have time to care now.

 

To her left, Geralt engaged three guards, the orange flash of his quen shield jarring from a blow before he took them down with a few swings of his iron sword.

 

A man appeared on top of the stairs. He wore a shining heavy armor and an iron helmet. In his hand, he held a sword lifted, prepared to meet whatever foe would engage him.

 

Rennaugh halted at the sight of him. He equally froze as he saw her, tilting his helmeted head in confusion. He had apparently not anticipated an unarmed woman to approach. She took advantage of his confusion and ripped the sword from his hand with her powers. She gripped the hilt with both hands, staring at him in defiance. She hoped he wouldn’t notice she had no idea what to do with a sword. It was so heavy she had to use her telekinesis to keep it steady.

 

It turned out she needed to do nothing. The horror of having lost his weapon by a force he couldn’t see made the guard lift his hands, walk in a circle around her, and flee. She would have laughed if she wasn’t so afraid. She rushed to the great door and started pushing.

 

Regis and Geralt came up to her and helped pushing. The door flung ajar.

 

Running, they discerned a large, circular bailey connecting the battlements in front of them. In the middle, the man they knew must be Delmar de Challant stood with his arm raised, one hand placed on the head of Dettlaff, who had been beaten. His leather coat and tunic were opened to reveal his chest underneath. His arms tied behind him, he stood with his eyes closed and head sunk. They were surrounded by armed guards.

 

She wanted to scream his name, but no words came from her throat twisted in fear. Her heart froze as she realized de Challant held a stake in his other hand. She ran again, but tripped on a stone, and Regis and Geralt stopped to help her up on her knees.

 

None of the men in the circle had noticed them yet, however. “Reveal yourself!” de Challant screamed, his face twisted in anger. “I know you are him! Show me what you really are!”

 

Dettlaff only lifted his chin slightly, opening his eyes enough to see them approaching –

 

\- when De Challant lifted his arms, and with all his force, he drove the stake into Dettlaff’s chest. The vampire recoiled from the force, only held up by two guards behind him, and moaned. Blood spluttered forth between his gritted teeth.

 

She saw it as in slow motion. “No.” she whispered. They were too late.

 

It was as if everything stood still.

 

She couldn’t feel the breeze in the air, the light rain that started falling, she scarcely heard Regis’ gasp.

 

Suddenly, the ground started shaking. The sadistic grin in de Challant’s face slowly transformed to surprise as he looked down to see small rocks dance at his feet. As he raised his eyes, he saw three figures near the gateway to the battlements, two men, one younger than the other, and a young woman, squatting on the floor of the bailey.

 

A crack in the ground emanated, from her hand, quickly spreading to a breach. The rumbling grew louder and stronger. He let out a confused noise when the breach snapped a column of the building apart and fell crashing onto the lower grounds together with half of his men.

 

Wide-eyed, he watched as the woman raised herself to her feet and walked towards him, her eyes burning. The two men behind her didn’t move, but seemed to watch her as much in chock as he.

 

Two guards fired arrows at her. She stopped the bolts in midair, crushing them to splinters, and with a twist of her clenched hand, she sent the rest of de Challants med flying against the walls of the battlements, the cracks of their broken bodies and their screams travelling through the air. There were only him and the two men holding Dettlaff now, and they started backing, leaving the vampire falling to his knees. Blood trickled through the hole in his chest where the stake still impaled him. She ignored the two guards who ran away.

 

She reached the circle, and with a movement of her hand, she sent de Challant’s body flying in the air, hovering above her. Her eyes pierced him, blackened with hate. He gasped.

 

“I only did what was right!” he yelled. His blonde hair soaked with sweat at his temples despite the cool air, his face twisted in fear. “That beast killed the duchess’ sister! He was a monster!”

 

His speech turned into a high-pitched scream as she snapped the bone in his right upper arm. Her fist not telekinetically holding him in the air clenched to whiten her knuckles.

 

“No, please don’t kill me!” he sobbed, but fell silent as she started to press at his wind pipe. She could only hear his whimpers as he tried to gasp for air.

 

“Rennaugh.”

 

At first, she didn’t register his voice. Her eyes, previously squeezed into slits of hate towards the nobleman, widened as she realized who had spoken to her.

 

“Dettlaff?” she whispered. Her mouth hung open from surprise, her eyes tearing up. He was not dead.

 

He raised himself to his feet, trembling but alive, and ripped the stake from his chest. It left a hole - she watched in shock as it started to immediately close itself. He took a few steps towards her, slowly but stable.

 

De Challant still hung in the air, his face slowly turning blue from the pressure on his throat. Regis and Geralt carefully approached them, but she didn’t notice.

 

“Rennaugh, don’t do this.” Dettlaff eyes conveyed something she’d seen in them once before. He was afraid. “Don’t let them turn you into a monster. You were right, Rennaugh. Monsters are made.” He lifted a hand to touch her arm. “I couldn’t live with myself if you became something you aren’t because of me.”

 

A tear ran down her cheek. Rennaugh released the grasp of the nobleman who fell to the ground with a thud, coughing and gasping for air. She flung herself at the raven-haired vampire with a sharp exhale of relief. He embraced her, nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck.

 

Behind them, de Challant’s eyes filled with hate as he found his breath again. He searched with his unbroken hand on the side of his boot, and drew out a short blade.

 

As he lifted himself to his feet, a mist enclosed him, and before he had the possibility to take another breath, his chest was impaled with several, razor-sharp claws. Dettlaff and Rennaugh turned in surprise.

 

“My good sir,” Regis’ face had an expression of stone. “There is only one thing I enjoy more than killing maggots like yourself.” He watched the life vanish from the bloodshot eyes of the nobleman impaled by his claws. “That is to drink fine wine. And it seems I’m all out of wine.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a lot of fun to write! To my surprise, the character I've enjoyed writing the most in this story was actually Geralt.
> 
> This marks the end of the second "part" of the story. From now on, I will begin to integrate Dettlaff's perspective a bit.
> 
> I wish you happy holidays! May they be full of reading, creating, playing and relaxing. Oh and of eating lots of delicious food, of course.
> 
> Edit: Ugh, I did NOT do research into to the Brokilon forest before writing this. I was like, "It's a forest, they can go there lol." Let's just pretend the dryads don't exist? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	12. Chapter 12

“Geralt, look at this.” Regis held a piece of paper in front of him. It was a letter to De Challant, found in one of the armories in the abandoned fortress that had apparently served as an office for a brief time.

 

After the ordeal with the nobleman on the battlements, Dettlaff released his embrace of Rennaugh as he placed his gaze on Geralt. The vampire remembered the witcher’s promise. He prepared for a fight, with sorrow in his heart.

 

Geralt sheathed his sword as a sign for him to relax. “I’m not here to kill you,” he assured. “Your friends have convinced me to not fulfill my promise. I’m not sure about this,” he added, “but I won’t fight you, at least not as long as I know you are not a threat to anyone.”

 

Dettlaff’s shoulders relaxed as he listened to the witcher’s words, and gave a short nod.

 

They hurried away from the battlements, leaving the body of de Challant on the ground. _I’m going to have to tell Anna Henrietta of this,_ Geralt thought.

 

Insisting that they search the fortress for more information about what had been going on, Regis opened the door to the armory. Well inside, Rennaugh let her back slide down the walls to sit on the stone floor, her leather-gloved hands covering her face. Her shirt was stained with Dettlaff’s blood.

 

“I killed them,” she breathed. She had done it now, extinguished life with her powers. She knew this was irrevocable, a grisly landmark. She had killed. And yet she knew, she would do it again to save him. She would have torn the entire fortress down to find him. She now understood how Dettlaff must have felt when he threatened to kill everyone in Beauclair. This was a part of her she’d never encountered before, and it chilled her.

 

Dettlaff observed her as if he could sense her thoughts. The hole in his chest was closed now, underneath his tunic and coat, but another hollow feeling replaced it as he saw her mourn.

 

Geralt bent down to put a hand on her shoulder. “Rennaugh, listen to me,” he said with that raspy voice she’d come to love, “the men in this fortress knew what they were doing. They weren’t innocent bystanders. They accepted to work for a prick who was out to torture and kill, only so he could climb the social ladder.”

 

She looked up at him and nodded. She needed time to reflect on this more, but later.

 

Regis called for Geralt from the other side of the room. He walked up to him and took the letter from the vampire's hand. His face lit up by surprise as he started reading.

 

 _Your gracefullness,_ the letter began ungracefully,

_I was fine with helping you put those poison things into minor vampires, even the bruxa, I mean, that was nasty but as long as the payment was good, I was ok with it. But this? A higher vampire? Count me out. Not even a witcher like myself can kill them. They are extremely powerful, don’t fool yourself. What are you going to do, wave garlic in front of him? impale him or throw holy water at him? I’m telling you de Challant, abandon this crazy idea._

_I’m not coming to Brokilon, sorry. I don’t have a death wish. Best of luck. You’ll need it._

The letter was signed by Lambert.

 

Geralt let out a laugh. His three companions watched him in surprise.

 

“It seems de Challant hired a witcher to help him poison the vampires,” he explained, “and not just any witcher. His name is Lambert, we trained together at Kaer Morhen. We’re from the same witcher school.” He shook his head smilingly. “I wonder if he’s still with Keira,” he asked to himself, and continued, raising his head to Regis. “de Challant should have listened to Lambert. Most witchers know better than to engage with a higher vampire, even though he didn’t know this particular vampire isn’t keen on killing anymore.”

 

Dettlaff only gave him a scowl, but Rennaugh could see his shoulders relaxing.

 

“It is fitting, I should say, that de Challant still died by the hands of a vampire,” Regis concluded, his face emotionless. He continued his search, seemingly unsatisfied.

 

“Regis, what are you looking for?” Geralt asked. He wanted to get the hell out of there.

 

“I want to see if I can find anything about the type of poison they used against the vampires,” Regis answered. “I doubt the de Challant himself had extensive knowledge in alchemy. Someone must have helped him prepare it…”

 

Geralt frowned. “I can try to get in contact with Lambert and ask him.”

 

Regis looked up on him from a shelf that he was searching through. “That would be much appreciated."

 

After finding nothing more although searching for another half-hour, they finally left the fortress and ventured out into the woods.  

 

*

 

Back into the forest, Geralt whistled for Roach, and to Rennaugh’s delight, the horse came cantering together with the rest of their mounts. She greeted Empress by placing her forehead against her ganache, and patted her on the neck.

 

The group started their long travel back to Touissant and Corvo Bianco. Dettlaff hesitated at first, but agreed to accompany them after Geralt told him Anna Henrietta had lifted his banishment from the region. The news surprised him greatly, and gladdened his two friends.

 

“Regis,” Geralt muttered with his throaty voice as they later rode through the forest, “I’m not sure about this.”

 

Regis turned his head to gaze at the object of Geralt's discountenance. The couple behind them seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary. He rode next to her, and sometimes exchanging certain glances. Her smile was bright enough to compete with the afternoon sun.

 

When they stopped to make camp, Dettlaff placed his hands on Rennaugh's hips to help her down her horse. Turning, she held his arms as if magnetically drawn to him. They looked at each other like seeing something for the first time. They wouldn’t speak much. Sitting next to each other, she sometimes let her hand caress his arm as if not really daring to believe he was there. The vampire silently held her gaze with an expression that conveyed something Geralt could only interpret as gratitude.

 

“Hmpf,” he grunted in disapproval as he watched them from a slight distance.

 

Regis, who sat next to him, gave him an amused look. “Oh, come on Geralt. If anyone knows the merits of infatuation, it’s you.” The grey vampire’s smile was wide enough to show his pointed canine teeth.

 

“Don’t pretend like this couldn’t mean a shitload of trouble,” the witcher muttered. “I’m sorry, but the history of his love life isn’t exactly reassuring.” _What the heck is Triss going to say about this_ , he thought.

 

“Oh, but this is where I believe you are wrong”, Regis replied in a calm voice. “It is exactly because of his history that this is such a victory. This is what I meant when I said he needed to meet someone like her. He’s ready to trust again. And this time, he’s putting his trust in someone who deserves it.”

 

“Let’s hope you’re right.” Geralt muttered shortly, and gave the couple another look, scowling. Suddenly, he remembered something.

 

“Rennaugh,” he announced. The young woman and her companion turned, “there’s something I have to tell you.”

 

*

 

Rennaugh listened intensely to Geralt as he told the story of the Dathmori on the Skellige isles as it had been recounted in Yennefer’s letter. When he concluded with the disappearance of the sisterhood from the history books, she nodded with a slight frown. She scarcely dared to breathe. She knew this was vital information, that it related to her very being. Another name to add to that which she potentially was: _ixa_. “Did your friend know why they disappeared?” she asked, almost whispering.

 

“No,” Geralt admitted, “but she was going to investigate further.” He slightly shook his head as he couldn’t help but wonder why the story was of such great interest to Yen.

 

“Please tell her, was her name Yennefer?” Rennaugh asked, “that I’m really grateful for what she’s done.” The two vampires listened to the story, both seemingly pensive. The group spent the rest of the night mostly in silence, only Geralt and Regis would exchange a few words about how to best venture back to Touissant.

 

Their journey was different now. She and Geralt travelled by horse, going through farmsteads, villages and small towns, spending most of their nights at inns and taverns. Regis and Dettlaff did not go with them, but would join them on rare nights when they camped outside. On those nights, she walked up to him, and he always took her hands in his. She let her self be enclosed by his arms. But they did not speak much. Although this was a more comfortable means of travelling compared to sleeping on the ground, Rennaugh already missed the nights with the vampires by the camp fire. She missed their company. They promised to return to Touissant with her and Geralt, but she didn’t know how much she was going to see Dettlaff when they got back, or how.

 

When they finally reached the Sansretour valley and Corvo Bianco, she dismounted Empress and was greeted by Marlene, who embraced her warmly. Rennaugh beamed at her, happy to see the kind woman again, and even dared to give Barnabus-Basil an embrace. His straightened posture never faltered, but she could see a glimmer of delight in his bespectacled eyes.

 

In the privacy of her room, Rennaugh pondered over Dettlaff. She contemplated how everything was different between them, yet nothing had changed. He had not tried to kiss her or in any way touch her besides holding her, and she felt her need for him grow each passing day. She longed to melt into him, to taste him, to feel him close. Alone in her bed, she would fantasize about him and touch herself, but it was not her own hands she longed for. She had never wanted like this in her entire life.

 

She wondered if he thought about her in the same way. Did he think about undressing her, kissing her? There were moments when her confidence wavered; perhaps he didn’t feel the same way about her? Perhaps vampires didn’t desire like humans did; but no, she remembered what Regis said about his romantic adventures, and she knew Dettlaff had been the lover of Sylvia Anna, or Rhenawedd as she falsely called herself. Surely that meant more than him being just in love with her, they must have… she had to block those thoughts out, as they hurt like knives in her chest.

 

She remembered Regis’s words. _Give him time_. Somehow, she had a gut feeling there was something Dettlaff needed to do. She needed to be patient.

 

*

 

Dettlaff knew he was banned from the capital. But he would violate that term just this once.

 

There were guards at the entrance of the crypt at the cemetery in Beauclair. He drifted past them. They would only feel the graze of a momentary chill against their bodies. Her resting place was far down the crypt. It was a beautiful burial chamber, ornate with gold and red marble. There were fresh flowers down there. Anna Henrietta still mourned, he thought with a tug in his chest. What was it she mourned? The thought of what could have been?

 

He took several moments to just be still. His eyes glanced over the text of the tomb stone. _Sylvia Anna, beloved sister_. He searched his emotions. He discovered he could still feel them; the hate, the rage, the bottomless pain. But they were different now, more like memories of emotions. It was as if he could hold them up and examine them.

 

He didn't know if he would ever truly be able to let go of the hate, the self-loathing. But it felt like he had the strength now, and the will, to at least try. 

 

He wanted to be free.

 

Dettlaff lifted his hand and took the moth-shaped brooch from the shoulder pad of his leather coat. He carefully placed it on top of her stone. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

 

He inhaled a deep breath, and as he exhaled, he felt lighter.

 

It was time to leave some things behind.

 

*

 

That same day, about a week after their return to Corvo Bianco, Marlene asked Rennaugh if she would like to accompany her to a festival in one of the nearby villages. It was a yearly celebration of the bounty of the lands given by the Lady of the lake, and there would be servings of the local cuisine, plays and music, a gathering of the finest bards and musicians in the region. The festival would end with a great bonfire and dance in the evening.

 

“It will be lovely,” Marlene smiled at her, “Regis is coming too. Please join us.” Rennaugh, who hadn’t seen Dettlaff since their return, accepted in the hope of him perhaps being there. Geralt could regrettably not join them, as he had an audience with the duchess that same night.

 

Marlene tried her best to persuade Rennaugh to wear a dress, but the younger woman just smiled and shook her head. The cook was at least able to convince her to let her do her hair after her bath, and spent the morning coaxing her hay-colored locks into a coiffure that made Rennaugh blush as she got to see herself in the mirror. Marlene had placed braids in her temples that were fastened together with the rest of her hair on the back of her head in the most beautiful coiffure she’d ever worn. She felt almost regal.

 

As Rennaugh, Regis and Marlene approached the nearby village, she was delighted by the festive atmosphere; the decorations and flowers that adorned the houses, and the smiling faces of the villagers and visitors from nearby villages and even from Beauclair, of the children running around, laughing at the entertainers, their hands full of lollipops and candied apples. Rennaugh noticed how some  people cast appreciative glances to her. She felt beautiful, and very alive. They ate by one of the food stands specialized in the local cheese, drowning in olive oil and savored with salty bread and wine. They continued by tasting exotic fruits she’d never even heard the name of, with sweetened wine to drink. Everything tasted like heaven.

 

As the sun set, the village prepared for the dance by the great bonfire, musicians tuned their instruments, parents chased their children, appealing to them to go home and go to bed. The sky had a beautiful red and rosy color as the last rays of the sun illuminated the mountaintops that loomed over them to the west.

 

First, a choir of men sang traditional harvest celebration tunes, led by a trio of musicians on cello and violins. Rennaugh stood almost stupefied by the beauty of their song, and cast a glance at Regis who seemed to equally enjoy the spectacle. He noticed her glance and smiled at her, nodding. He then turned to her, bending down slightly so she could hear his speech over the music.

 

“I was planning on staying at the local inn this night,” he said close to her ear, “apparently, they are famous for their red wine. But I think it will be more suitable for you to have the room. Take this.” To her surprise, he placed a key in her hand. She started to protest, but something in his eyes stopped her. She closed her hand around the key.

 

When the choir had finished their tribute to the lands, two more musicians joined the band, one on accordion and the other on flute, and together they played a tune she recognized. The youth of the village immediately broke off from the crowd towards the clearing and started dancing. This part of the festival was theirs. The young women wore flower wreaths and colorful dresses, perhaps basic in comparison to the extravagant clothing of the upper class of Beauclair, but Rennaugh found them beautiful. The men were also handsome, with their breeches and cotton shirts, their hats and beautifully embroidered vests. Smilingly, she realized she knew the dance. It was a form of folkdance she had learned from her childhood called the _Kaprifol_ , where the men formed a large circle around the women, who first danced together to eventually find a male partner as the choreography continued.

 

 _I’ve missed dancing!_ Rennaugh realized.

 

That was when she saw him. He slowly walked towards them from the other side of the village, and came to stand next to Regis. Everything else seemed to lose significance. A new sensation filled her chest as their eyes continued to stay interlocked. Dettlaff’s eyes wandered down her body and up again in an appreciative glance at her hair. She forgot to breath from the weight of his gaze. She knew now that he wanted her. In that moment, he looked at her like she was the only woman in the world.

 

Suddenly, she was surprised by a young woman with nutbrown hair, who broke free from the other dancers to grab Rennaugh by the hands. “Come dance with us!” she smiled, and started dragging Rennaugh towards the clearing. She smiled back, and with just a glance at Regis and Dettlaff, she let her self be led away. The two women danced, hands together to the tunes of the musicians, and Rennaugh joyfully remembered the steps. During these last difficult years, she had longed to live like any other young woman, to laugh and enjoy simple things. She had forgotten about it herself, but she had turned twenty-one the other night. She took the hands of another young woman, and they swiveled together with the other women, enclosed by the ring of male dancers.

 

The tune changed, which indicated the men would approach them to find a partner of the opposite sex. Rennaugh found herself in the arms of a man about her age, with brown eyes and a beardless face. He held her by the waist as they danced, and she smiled at him as she saw his cheeks blush. She felt slightly light-headed, and didn’t know if it was because of her happiness or because of the two glasses of wine she had taken earlier.

 

Then Dettlaff was beside them, and they stopped. Silently, he asked the other man if he could step in by holding out a hand. The young man seemed confused at first, but lifted his shoulders and stepped away to seek another dance partner. Rennaugh took Dettlaff’s hand, surprised he knew how to dance, but he did it well. It was something else than with the other man. His hand on her waist sent shivers through her and left her skin tingling. Taking her hand, he whirled her around in a pirouette, and another. She smiled, her heart overfull, and in the third pirouette, she lost her step. Laughing, she grabbed hold of his arms to regain her balance. His eyes were soft, and there was something else in his gaze, something that had her smile fading as she lost her self in him.

 

Regis watched them from a distance, seeing only their dark silhouettes as the bonfire burned behind them. The dancing couples occasionally hid them from his view, but he could see them stop and stand still, her face lifted to his. The grey-haired vampire smiled as their silhouettes slowly melted together. He turned to walk away to the dying sound of the music.

 

*

 

In the palace of Beauclair, duchess Anna Henrietta silently watched Geralt as he recounted the happenings in the forest, ending with the death of Delmar de Challant. He didn’t mention his companions.

 

She nodded, a wrinkle between her eyebrows. “And so, the beast of Beauclair has another victim."

 

“No,” Geralt answered, his gaze steady, “I killed de Challant.”

 

She stared at him in near disbelief, her eyes flashing. “But why?” she asked in a hiss. “Do you understand how much trouble I’m going to have to go through to explain this to the de Challant family?”

 

Geralts voice was hard as he answered. “He tortured and nearly killed an unarmed man who made no resistance. I did what I had to do.”

 

“Are you calling a vampire unarmed?” the duchess’ eyes narrowed.

 

Geralt did not let himself be intimidated.  “Dettlaff never laid a finger on any of de Challant’s men, nor did he do anything to hurt de Challant himself. I don’t regret killing that coward.”

 

“But why? Why didn’t he resist?” Anna Henrietta finally asked after a moments weighty silence, almost whispering.

 

“Maybe because he doesn’t want to be the beast of Beauclair anymore. You said it yourself; he only killed those chevaliers because he thought it would save your sister.”

 

The duchess held up a hand to him. “I understand. You may go now, Geralt of Rivia.”

 

He nodded, and turned to leave. As he turned his head, he got a last glimpse of a pensive Anna Henrietta, gazing out the window, her arms around herself.

 

As he closed the door behind him, she reached out her hand to grab a letter on the table beside her.

 

 _Your grace_ , it began,

 

_Allow me to express my protest towards the defunding of my experiments on the vampire toxin. I am grateful for the money given so far, but I really do believe we are close to a breakthrough – I know I can procure a venom strong enough to kill even a higher vampire. Your grace, you stated in your last letter that you have found out additional information that had changed your mind, but surely, your sister did not deserve her fate? It is a_

She did not continue reading. She threw the letter into the fireplace.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was inspired by [this screenshot](https://pre00.deviantart.net/815c/th/pre/f/2017/101/8/b/dettlaff_van_der_eretein_iv_by_crazywitchergirl-db5g57f.jpg) of Dettlaff (not mine) when I wrote the section with the bonfire. It kind of looks like he’s looking at something (or someone) he likes, right? 
> 
> Kaprifol is actually swedish for honeysuckle, but it sounds like it could be a folkdance!
> 
> I tried to find info on his moth pin – if it had any specific meaning, but found nothing. It might just be there because it’s pretty, to show how skilled the artists of this game are when it comes to small but crucial details in the appearance of the characters. It is part of why I love this game so much.
> 
> Only two chapters left! Let’s get them out before the new year, right?


	13. Chapter 13

Rennaugh felt light as air as they silently ascended the stairs of the inn together. His presence enveloped her like radiating heat. They reached the door to the room, and she opened it with the key.

 

Her hands didn't tremble. There was no doubt, only brightness in her heart.  

 

The room was small but of good standard. A canopy bed of deep red velour fabric stood to the left, a sturdy, walnut writing desk in an alcove to the right, a single lit lantern on top of it. In front of them, fresh, cool air washed over the room from an open window. 

 

She walked up to the window, his gaze on her back, and closed it. She turned around and fastened her eyes in his.

 

He stood in the middle of the room, his handsome features lit up by the lantern. The light reflected by his dark leather coat, and she wondered how she could have ever thought of this man to be frightening, to be anything else than beautiful. His eyes that scared her at their first encounter seemed now like burning embers as they steadily held her gaze.

  

A mix of excitement and nervousness travelled from the pit of her stomach out to her arms. She took off her gloves, and lifted her hands to undo the intricate coif on her head. As her thick locks fell onto her shoulders, he closed the distance between them and placed his hands on either side of her head. He let one hand graze through her hair with a sigh.

 

She placed her hands on his chest, one hand splayed over his heart. She let her fingers seek the golden, moth-shaped brooch usually fastened to his coat, surprised by its absence. He took her hand and instead of explaining, he let his lips seek hers.   

 

He let out a puff of air through his nose as she moved her lips against his. One hand still holding hers, the other travelled to the back of her head. He felt cool, and radiating of something that resembled heat at the same time. She inhaled the smell of him; leather, bonfire, something musky. She tilted her head and opened her mouth to be able to deepen the kiss. A blaze of heat shot through her as her tongue met his. Her knees weakened. Letting go of her hand, he took hold of her lower back and pulled her even closer. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

 

Her heart pounded as if she had been running. She didn’t know how this was supposed to be done. She decided to trust her feelings and do what she wanted to do.

 

What she wanted was to get him out of his clothes. She smiled against his lips at the wickedness of her thoughts.

  

Suddenly, he interrupted their kiss. “Rennaugh,” he said, his voice low and thick of emotions. “Have you ever done this before?”

 

She shook her head slightly as she lowered her hands to his chest. “No.”

 

He looked her in the eye, in way that told her he was proud to be her first. He softly caressed her hair and opened his mouth to say something, but she spoke first.

 

“I know,” she whispered, “I know you’ll never hurt me.” She lifted his hand and placed a soft kiss on his knuckle. “I will never hurt you,” she promised.

 

He fastened his eyes in hers for a moment, before catching her lips again in a searing kiss.

 

Her  hands travelled  down to  his  waist  and  started  tugging  at  his  belt.  He  broke  their  kiss to look down at  her  hands, giving  her  more  access by  separating  their  bodies  just  slightly.   

  

As she managed to open his belt, his blade clattering on the floor, her hand accidentally grazed his breeches where he was hard. He hissed in a sharp inhale, and when their eyes met, his was burning with hunger.

 

She could see he restrained himself. She rubbed her thighs together and longed to feel him inside her, although she had no idea what that would be like.

  

She had been wanting this for a long time.   

  

Curiously, she let her hand slide back to his pants to outline his shaft with her fingers. With a growl, his hand darted out to catch hers, and in a movement that had her gasp of surprise and excitement at the same time, he lifted her up and placed her on the writing desk. He started to kiss up the column of her throat, his hips between her thighs, while letting his hands wander down her body. She had to place one hand on the desk to keep her up from his assault, the other tucked in his hair.

  

She closed her eyes and craned her neck to let him get better access to the sensitive skin on her neck, letting herself drown in him, losing control. She trusted him. The heat in her body pooled in her stomach and pulsated where their hips met. She heard herself mewl as his hands cupped her breasts and grazed her nipples over the layers of cloth.

  

“So beautiful,” he murmured before catching her lips with his again, “you are so beautiful, Rennaugh.”

 

She continued to unfasten the buckles of his coat until he pushed it over his shoulders and lifted it off together with his gloves. Almost irritated by how many layers of clothes he wore, she started to unbutton his red tunic.

 

He grabbed her leg and pulled her boot off her foot, then the other one. As he dragged her on her feet again, she adjusted herself to her new height due do the loss of her heels, and lifted herself on the balls of her feet to be able to reach his lips. He bent slightly down to let her get better access. She could finally sweep his tunic over his shoulders.

 

His body was pale, with shadows that were almost purple in colour. She revelled in his strong features and caressed his shoulder with her hand.

 

He placed his fingers on the lacings that bound her blouse together. “I want to see you.” He demanded. His voice was thick with lust.

 

Accepting, she took a step back and unbuttoned her belt. She let it slide to the floor. She continued with her blouse, all while interlocking gazes. After removing her pants, she slid her hands behind her back to unfasten her breast binding, letting the simple cloth fall to her feet. Her skin broke out in goose bumps. As she made a movement to take off her smallclothes, he walked up to her and caught her lips with his.

 

She gasped at the feeling of his naked chest against hers. Still kissing her, he let one hand hold the back of her neck, the other one grazing the side of her breast and down towards her centre. As he carefully slid one finger along her slit on the outside the damp cloth of her smallclothes, she moaned and looked at him, surprised by the intensity of the sensation. His touch ignited bolts of tender fire through her body, sparks danced along her nerves, from her centre and down her thighs.

 

She mewled his name as he let his finger draw rough circles on her most sensitive piont, careful to not let his nails hurt her. All the time, he had their eyes interlocked to watch her come undone. She had to hold on to him to prevent herself from falling under her buckling knees. Just when she felt like she was going to melt, he lifted his hand to caress her breast. She felt deprived, but as he kissed her again, she let herself indulge in the new feeling.

 

She tugged at his pants. He slowly walked them towards the bed until her calves hit the bedframe. As she fell on the sheets, he climbed on top of her and resumed his kissing and licking down her neck, to her collarbones, until his lips met a nipple. She gasped as his tongue swept over her breasts. His large hands easily engulfed them.

 

Again, she tugged at his breeches.

 

“Dettlaff, I need you…”

 

“I’m trying to hold back,” he murmured, his voice strained. The muscles of his arm trembled. She placed a hand on his face to meet his eyes.

 

“I don’t want you to.”

 

He held her gaze for a moment, before hastily pulling off his breeches and underpants, and with a tug, he ripped her smallclothes down her hips and threw them onto the floor.

 

She swallowed. She had seen naked men before. One time as a girl, a drunk villager waved his organ in front of her the other village girls, the sight of his red stub mostly making her feel sorry for him.

 

This was something else entirely. As he laid on top, kissing her, she could feel his erection press against her abdomen. She opened her thighs wider, so he could find a more comfortable position between her legs. Her hands clutched at his arms. She gasped as the tip of him slid against her opening.

 

“Rennaugh…” he murmured, breathing out of his nose, looking at her to get her consent. She nodded, her mouth open. His expression shot through her heart like an arrow. She felt safe.

 

With one hand on her shoulder and the other around himself, he nudged inside and started pressing further. His eyes pierced her. He closed them and grunted as he buried himself inside her completely, hoisting himself up on his hands.

 

It burned slightly. But the feeling wasn’t unpleasant. Instead, she had the most gratifying feeling of connection as he filled her. Slowly, he let his hips retract and join hers again in a movement that send a hot flash through her entire body.

 

“Oh, gods,” she whispered.

 

He let his body fall closer as he continued his movements in an unhurried pace, kissing the skin underneath her ear. She rocked her hips to meet his. It was glorious, the sensuous moving of their bodies against each other. She felt like sparks erupted inside her every time their hips met, like short flames that flickered and grew larger, and larger, until they filled her whole being. Beads of sweat gathered at her heated temple. He whispered in her ear, how much he had wanted this, how good she felt, and she needed more, she pleaded for more.  

 

He let a hand slide down to the crook of her knee, and hoisted her leg up to wrap it around his lower back as he found a new angle to move against her. His thrusts became more intense. As he kissed her, he swallowed her soft moans that soon turned into cries. She didn’t care if the other guests at the inn could hear her. The heat within her spun and coiled tighter and tighter, making her vision nearly go blank. Clinging to him, her eyebrows knitted together as she started to reach the limit to what she could take as he moved against her in a rough pace.

 

Then it was too much, and arching against him, her orgasm hit her like a crashing wave of lava. He thrust inside her a moment longer as she clenched around him, gasping and shuddering. She marvelled at how long the eruption in her body could go on. As he came inside her with a groan, he nearly fell on top of her, but held himself up enough not to crush her.

 

They laid ensnared for a while, hearts thudding in sync, breaths slowly faltering to a normal rhythm. He gently kissed her face and caressed her hair.

 

She smiled.

 

She had finally found a way to communicate with fire.

 

*

 

During the next few weeks, they often excused themselves before venturing out on their own, ensuring Regis they needed to continue her training. He only smiled a crooked grin and shook his head as they hurried out.

 

They spent days of pure, blinding bliss. She knew they acted like complete fools. But she didn’t care. They talked, ate and walked together. Held each other. He looked at her like he worshipped her, and she laughed. They ventured out on the mountain near the palace, overlooking the bay and the Sans-retour river to admire the strangely formed cliffs at its end, his arm wrapped around her.

 

He seldom slept, but stayed with her as she did, only to kiss her as she slowly woke up.

 

But mostly they would do it. She knew it had many names. Having relations. Intercourse. Fornication. Fucking. Love-making. They did it all.

 

They did it slowly, drawing out the pleasure for hours before release, clinging to each other like vines around trees. They did it passionately and nearly brutally, leaving her bruised from his grip and his mouth. His tunic and leather coat hid the marks of her teeth and nails on his shoulders and back. One time he ripped her blouse apart before taking her, and spent the rest of the night sewing it together again. He took her against the walls in the crypt, her legs clinging to his hips as he thrust inside her, pressing her firmly against the wall, her backside grinding against the stone.

 

He showed her the floods of pleasure from letting him work his way down between her thighs with his mouth and tongue, and she learned how to do the same to him. She learned that she loved to move on top of him, but that it was the position that would tire her the most. He turned her around and entered her from behind, kissing her neck and using his hand to make her come so hard she nearly tore the bedsheets to shreds, fearing the rough palpitation of her heart was going to send her to an early grave.

 

It was passionate and animalistic and _so, so frigging beautiful_ , she thought.

 

She knew now why the chantry preached against extra-marital intercourse. There was no need to toil in hardship in hope of being worthy of heaven when it could be found in the arms of another. She felt free and wild and powerful, but above all, so in love her body ached of need when he was close and ached of loss when he was away. The priests called it sin, but there was such an innocence to it all. They loved like children, unconditionally and unrestrained.

 

After a while however, Regis started complaining about her neglecting her alchemy training, and she felt a sting of guilt. He was right. She refocussed on his lectures, returning to her lover less often but with even more hunger.

 

People from the villages around the estate visited them, asking her and Regis about how to best tend to their ailments, and as the rumour spread, they began to be summoned to help cure fevers, broken bones and other medical issues. She felt gratification from helping others, a feeling she thought she’d lost after she’d left her sisters. Dettlaff made tiny toys for her to give to the sick or injured children she visited.

 

Regis was still very pensive regarding the vampire poison. His research into the matter only led to dead-ends. Geralt had managed to get in contact with Lambert, who merely assured him he had “no fucking idea who prepared the poison”, and didn’t care as long as he got paid.

 

It was during this time that Triss finally arrived at Corvo Bianco. She was greeted by Rennaugh with a warm embrace. The sorceress saw the change in her protégé. The girl from Cintra was no girl anymore.

 

Triss knew about her and Dettlaff. Geralt had never been very adept at writing letters, but he had explained enough for her to understand. She felt a shiver down her spine when she realized just whom her young protégé was getting involved with, and Geralt’s letter told her he wasn’t too happy about it either. But Triss felt she had to trust Rennaugh to make such decisions about her own life, and not offend her by treating her like a child. That is why she was surprised when Rennaugh herself spoke to her about it as they reunited at Corvo Bianco.

 

“Triss, maybe you have questions…” Rennaugh smiled at the red-haired sorceress, “let us sit down and talk about everything that’s happened since we parted.” Triss nodded, and she couldn’t refrain from tucking a blonde strand of hair from the other woman’s cheek behind her ear in an affectionate gesture. “Of course,” she said.

 

*

 

Rennaugh first told Triss about her training. She decided to be completely honest with the sorceress in a hope to find recognition in the fear she felt at times regarding her powers. Triss knew exactly what she meant. It was the very reason mage were hated and killed. People feared that kind of power unleashed. She had herself fought against some of the nobility in Kovir who masked their wish to practically erect mage prisons by using her idea of a school of magi.

 

“I have also killed using my powers,” Triss said. “I did it to protect those I loved, but also because I believed I was fighting for the right cause. Ultimately, we are alone in those decisions. We have great responsibility regarding what we can do. We may also be used.” She smiled at her protégé. “But I don’t fear any lack of judgement in you, Rennaugh. Not as long as you reflect on these issues.”

 

The blonde woman nodded. “I’ve just felt so alone,” she whispered. “You’re not,” Triss avowed. They shared a moments silence, smiling at each other in commonality. Triss took a sip of her wine.

 

“I’ve been wondering how you’ve felt about the information I wanted Geralt to share with you, about the legends of the ixa’s of the Skellige isles.”

 

A small wrinkle appeared between Rennaugh’s eyebrows. “I’m not sure. I can’t help but to feel that it’s very important, somehow. But it’s all so fragmented…” She tilted her head slightly. “Your friend, Yennefer… has she told you anything more?”

 

Triss frowned. “No,” she said. She didn’t want to admit it, but it had been a long time since she’d heard from Yennefer now. She could take care of herself, but Triss still couldn’t help but to worry. She had a bad feeling about the whole ordeal with Yenna going to Skellige. Perhaps even with the whole story of the sisterhood of the Dathmori. “I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything more,” she promised. She leaned forwards and interlocked her hands on the table in front of them.

 

“So,” she said, locking her green eyes in the younger woman’s blue, “you really love him.”

 

Triss watched Reannugh’s blush spread on her neck and face.

 

“Yes,” she confirmed, and nodded as to underline her affirmation.

 

Triss smiled. She had also been young, or younger at least, and in love. She still was. “That’s wonderful,” she said in a low voice, smiling softly.

 

Rennaugh sighed in relief. Her shoulders relaxed. “Thank you,” she whispered. Triss knew the gratitude was directed towards her wish to not judge her. “Love is a beautiful thing,” she continued, “you’re right to cherish it.” She thought of how close she’d been to losing Geralt, over and over again, and bit her lip. “There is just one thing I want to know...”

 

She saw Rennaugh stiffen, prepared to hear her reprimand. But that’s not what she wanted with her question.

 

“One day, you will die, Rennaugh. And he will not. Have you two spoken of this?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been nervous about posting this chapter. Writing smut is fun, but also hard. It is where I rely most on inspiration from other writers. There are plenty of fantastic smutty fan fics out there, but I believe I owe my greatest inspiration from [this wonderful Reylo fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7806310/chapters/17812642) written by [LueurdeLaube](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LueurdeLaube/pseuds/LueurdeLaube). Consider this chapter a tribute. 
> 
> I’ve also been inspired by novels such as Lady Chatterley’s lover (which I found problematic in some senses although well written) as well as the letters between Abélard och Héloïse. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed ~


	14. Chapter 14

Rennaugh sat next to the stream that separated the forest from the fields, not far from where she’d first met him. Empress grazed the fresh grass by the brink. She didn’t try to communicate with the waters this time. Instead, she watched its flowing currents as she worryingly reflected on Triss’ words. The sorceress was right. She was going to die, and it was something that she had not considered at all. Had she been wrong to tell Dettlaff of her feelings that night outside Cintra city, in a hope that he would let her love him? Was she cruel for binding him to her with her feelings?

 

Love was more than desire and embraces. It could mean loss and pain, and dependence in a way that broke souls.

 

They needed to speak of it.

 

She placed a hand on her forehead, feeling the weight of a headache underneath her palm. She had in the last few days felt somehow weak, almost faint. She hoped she wasn’t coming down with the flu she knew spread in the nearby villages.

 

Suddenly, a rush through the air caused the hair on her arms stand up. Her horse felt it too, and lifted her head from the ground, letting out a puff of air through her nostrils. Something was moving closer, like a faint song, enveloping Rennaugh from all sides. She stood up. She couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary, yet she somehow knew. Then, she discerned the blurry contours of something translucent throw itself at her. She flung her hands up before everything turned dark.

 

In the crypt near the Mère-Lachaiselounge cemetery, Dettlaff was suddenly overcome by nausea. His face twisted in pain, he felt as if a cord snapped in his head, like a severed bowstring. A void entered in the back of his mind where there had previously been a presence he had only been faintly aware of.

 

Fear gripped his heart like ice. He immediately dematerialized and moved his energies towards Corvo Bianco.

 

When he reached the court yard, the inhabitants of the estate were already outside. “It’s Rennaugh,” he said, his voice raspy with emotion as he rematerialized, turning his gaze towards Regis and Geralt. “We know,” Regis replied, his worry written in his face, “her horse just returned without her.”

 

The raven-haired vampire paced back and forwards, his fists opening and clenching. “I can’t feel her.” His frown was deep, but it was not anger that tore at his heart.

 

“Don’t worry,” Regis tried to assure him, “we’ll find her.”

 

“Calm down,” Geralt said, fastening the leather string that bound his swords to his back. He turned to Triss. “You saw her last. Did she say where she was going?”

 

Triss tore her eyes off the man on the courtyard and turned them worryingly up to Geralt’s face. “No,” she answered, “she merely told me she was going for a quick ride.”

 

They were interrupted by Barnabus-Basil. “Miss Rennaugh rode to the north. I saw her pass the hill to the north-west.”

 

Dettlaff and Regis exchanged a look. “The forest,” the dark-haired vampire stated. The other vampire nodded. Within a second, they both turned into mist and disappeared. Geralt ran up on Roach and followed them.

 

He found the vampires near the stream. Dettlaff still paced back and forward, scowling. He seemed very near to break into his monstrous form. Regis squatted near the brink of the stream, examining the ground. As Geralt jumped off his horse and came closer, his wolf medallion tingled. There were clear signs of monster presence her.

 

“Dettlaff,” Regis said, “we both know what has happened here.”

 

The younger vampire nodded. Claws already sprouted from his hands. “She’s managed to hide her presence from us somehow,” he growled.

 

Concentrating, Geralt closed his eyes. He discerned a faint smell. Reopening his eyes, he could see it; like a near invisible trace of red smoke billowing through the forest. He ran towards it, unsheathing his silver sword. The vampires quickly followed suit.

 

*

 

The first sensation Rennaugh had when she regained consciousness was the uncomfortable feeling of her wrists bound. She squinted, her eyes slowly getting used to the faint light from an opening behind her. She laid on stone, bound with her hands above her head with leather strings. The stone walls and ceiling above her told her she was in a cave. Pressing down the panic rising in her throat, she looked up, and tugged at the strings with her arms. Realizing it was fruitless, she closed her eyes to use her powers to break free.

 

She heard a snicker, and reopened her eyes.

 

“Silly girl,” a voice announced itself, “don’t you think I know about your powers? Don’t you think I know who you are, _ixa_?” A green- and grey skinned woman appeared in front of Rennaugh. Her black hair laid dirty and slick against her head, her black globules eyeing her, fangs glimmering in the faint light from the opening of the cave.

 

It was the bruxa from the Amell mountains. Rennaugh inhaled a sharp breath when she recognized her.

 

“Yes,” the bruxa purred, smiling gently, “you know me.” She came closer, her body almost slithering towards her bound victim. Rennaugh mustered her powers again in panic, concentrating on the knots that bound her wrists, but there was nothing. Where there used to be flows and currents of energies communicating with her, there was now only an echo of something she used to be able to control. She felt the loss of her powers like a hole in her soul, devoid of light.

 

Staring at the bruxa, she shook her head in confusion. Cold sweat gathered on her forehead.

 

“Try all you want, you won’t be able to break free,” the bruxa explained, still smiling softly in a way that froze the veins in Rennaugh’s body, “these ropes are made from the vandal salamander, from Skellige.” Rennaugh stared at her, instinctively still tugging at the strings. “Oh, didn’t you know,” continued the bruxa, “that the reptile interrupts the powers of ixas? They are very rare of course, and much more powerful when alive, but I knew you would be weak enough to be affected only by its skin…” her face was so close to Rennaugh’s now, she could feel a hot breath on her face.

 

“What do you want?” Rennaugh said hoarsely.

 

“Oh, I think we both know the answer to that question,” the bruxa answered, her voice harder now. She placed a clawed finger on Rennaugh’s cheek, and still smilingly, she let her razor-sharp claw cut into the flesh, slowly, from the top of the cheekbone to the crook of her mouth. Rennaugh squinted, whimpering from the pain. Her blood seeped from the wound down to her neck, gathering in the pit between her collarbones.

 

“Yes, it hurts, doesn’t it?” the bruxa whispered, staring into blue eyes with a soft expression that frightened Rennaugh to her core. Then she licked the blood from her victim’s neck, slowly, leisurely.

 

Rennaugh flinched. She couldn’t hold back a whimper of disgust. A warm tear glided from her eye, its salt stinging the open wound.

 

She realized she was going to die.

 

There had been moments in her life when she wished to die. Especially after fleeing from Cintra city, she felt she had lost too much to be able to go on. But she remembered her mother urging her to find a way to Kovir, and struggled on for her sake.

 

She had in her mind said good bye to her mother now. A part of her would always hope that she could one day reunite with her sisters, perhaps in a future where people like her didn’t have to flee or be hated. But she knew it was improbable any time soon.

 

She had lost, but she also knew she had gained so much, in such a brief time. Friends, trust, happiness. The love of her life. She knew she would never love again like she had in the last months.

 

In this moment, she couldn’t think of her own loss, only of his. He had lost once before, because of betrayal. It was not fair he should lose again. No one should have to go through the pain of daring to trust again after having been used, only to experience another loss.

 

She stared into the black eyes of the bruxa. “Don’t do this,” she begged, and the thought of him helped her keep her voice steady, “if you care for him, even the slightest, then don’t do this. It’s not right.”

 

The bruxa only gave her another sickening smile, her tongue once more stained by Rennaugh’s blood. “Oh, you silly girl,” she said in her voice that sounded like it came from underwater, “you think you know him. As if he would really care for another human. How sweet.” Then, she raised her clawed hand again, and waved it lazily in front of Rennaugh’s chest.

 

Involuntarily, she flinched. More tears swelled in her eyes. The pain from the cut in her face burned enough to make her grit her teeth.

 

“If you truly think he doesn’t care, then why have you hidden me here, away from him?” Rennaugh managed to scream.

 

The bruxa gave her a stare so filled with hate it pushed the air out of Rennaugh’s lungs. But the creature soon found her countenance again.

 

“Should I cut her there?” she asked in her purring, deep voice, pointing a finger at Rennaugh’s right breast, “or perhaps, ah, of course.” Her black eyes glinted. “Her little cunt.” Her smile widening, she let her arm slide down to Rennaugh’s centre.

 

Rennaugh cast her head aside, eyes closed, her face twisted in fear. More tears erupted from her eyes.

 

 _I’m sorry, Dettlaff_ , she thought.

 

The bruxas hand reached her pelvis, and freezing in her movement as she looked down, she withdrew her arm as if burned. She leapt from her victim with a shrill scream.

 

“It cannot be!” she shrieked. “It’s impossible!”

 

For a brief second, Rennaugh opened her eyes, confused. Then she lifted a leg and kicked the bruxa with all her force in the stomach. With a moan, the bruxa staggered backwards and landed square on her bum.

 

Rennaugh tugged violently at the ropes on her wrists, and watched in desperation as the bruxa came back up on her feet, hissing.

 

In that moment, a white-haired man ran into the cave, a silver sword drawn in his hand. Immediately, Rennaugh recognized him. Her relief crashed upon her like an avalanche. “Geralt.” she whispered, blinking away her tears.

 

The bruxa screamed at him, and sank into invisibility, but the Witcher laid the yrden sign on the ground and forced her out of her translucence. A second later, mist flew around the bruxa, and materializing into his monstrous form, Dettlaff lifted her against the cave walls by her neck.

 

Regis also materialized from the mist, immediately turning to Rennaugh, releasing her from her ropes. She sniffled as she embraced him. He worryingly examined her cut.

 

The bruxa’s clawed hands dug into Dettlaff’s at the base of her neck, legs kicking in the air. Geralt abstained from sheathing his sword, but he didn’t intervene.

 

“I thought once,” Dettlaff spoke to the bruxa, his voice dark with resentment, “that you cared. But now I know you are just like her. You never accepted me, who I really am.” He slowly turned to his human form as he spoke. His hand bled from her claws, but his grip on her neck only tightened even more. “You only cared about what I could do for you.” If she tried to respond, it was impossible to tell from the pressure on her wind pipe.

 

“Goodbye,” he simply said, before snapping her neck in a loud crack. Her eyes that bulged from his grip turned grey like mist as her body slid to the ground.

 

He immediately turned to Rennaugh. “No,” he whispered as he hurried to kneel beside her. Regis stepped aside so she could embrace him. He returned her embrace, trembling, but broke free from her arms to examine if she had any other injuries than the cut in her face. When he found none, he placed his hands on her ears, kissed her on her forehead, and embraced her again. She couldn’t hold back a sharp inhale from the pain. He looked at her in worry. She tried to smile reassuringly, but it hurt too much. She felt a vertigo from the relief and happiness to see him again. To be alive.

 

“Come on,” Geralt announced softly behind them, “let’s get her out of here.”

 

The vampire gathered her in his arms, and lifted her from the cavern floor. They all left together.

 

*

 

Two weeks after the attack of the bruxa, Rennaugh stood before the mirror in her room, staring at her face. Her left cheek was swollen enough to almost block her eyesight, and several stitches ran from her ear all the way down to the crook of her mouth. The left side of her face was covered in purple bruises, some which had started to turn yellow. She had been nursed by Triss and Regis, and even though the claws of a bruxa were known to make ugly, pus-filled wounds, their combined knowledge of healing prevented the cut from being infected. Triss informed her however, that it would leave a scar.

 

Rennaugh sighed. She looked terrible. For several days, the stitches had prevented her from talking, eating anything but soup, even sleeping. But she was alive.

 

Behind her, Dettlaff approached and placed his hands on her shoulders. She turned around and looked up into his blue irises. “You’re beautiful,” he said, and she squinted slightly from the pain of the smile she couldn’t stop. She leaned the unbruised side of her face against his shoulder. She could feel his heartbeat against her hand placed on his chest.

 

He separated their bodies to look into her eyes again. “There’s something I want to show you. Come with me.”

 

Intrigued, she followed him by the hand.

 

On the mountain top overlooking the bay that glittered beneath the city and the Beauclair palace, they stood silently as he held an arm around her. A large flock of starlings appeared above the waters. There were thousands of them, flying in synchronized movements that made them appear like a billowing, dancing cloud. The setting sun flooded the scenery below them with a warm, orange light. In awe, Rennaugh watched the mesmerizing motions of the birds as they danced over the waters of the bay. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

 

“Thank you,” she whispered.

 

He turned his face to her, his eyes soft, and bent slightly down to kiss her forehead, her cheekbone, the crook of her mouth on the unbruised side of her face. She closed her eyes from his tender assault, but opened them again to look him in the eye. It still hurt her to speak, but she needed to ask him this one thing.

 

“Dettlaff,” she said, gently caressing his face with her fingertips, “do you remember the legend of the sisterhood of sorceresses on Skellige that Geralt told us about?” He nodded. Her stitches stung as she spoke, but she continued, turning her gaze to the distant flock of starlings again. “I need to know more. My father was born on Hindarsfjall. I need to go there. I can’t explain why, but somehow I just know it’s important.” She paused and looked at him. “Will you come with me?”

 

“Anywhere,” he said, his deep voice so intense it made her heart ache, “always.”

 

She couldn’t hold back another smile. She felt so alive she forgot about dying.

 

“I was thinking about asking Regis if he wanted to accompany us.”

 

It was his turn to smile. He nodded.

 

*

 

Only two weeks later, Triss, Geralt, Marlene and Barnabus-Basil took their farewell of the trio of the two vampires and the young woman as they ventured north towards Cintra, to take a boat and finally reach the Skellige isles. Rennaugh cried as she embraced Triss, and the red-haired sorceress felt there was something new about her, a rounder feature to her face perhaps. Maybe it was because of the scar, she thought, as she squeezed the young woman to her chest with the force of her affection. Geralt and Regis extended their handshake for a long while, exchanging polite words of farewell and hope for good health. It was obvious the two men shared a deep affection for each other.

 

Dettlaff watched the farewells from a slight distance. On the shoulder pad of his coat, a new pin glistened in the sun, a starling, bound from green and gold metal strings. He nodded silently to Geralt, who nodded back.

 

The letter from Yennefer reached Triss only three nights after their departure. It had been posted to their house in Pont Vanis, why it had been delayed. Triss’ chambermaid had resent it to Corvo Bianco.

 

 _Dear Triss_ , it said,

 

_I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write this letter, I had to continue my exploration on Skellige, and ugh, it is a place full of backwards peasants, perhaps you are already aware this, but the people there aren’t exactly my, let’s call it, supporters. Anyway, after a bit of an ordeal, I managed to find another old tome of Skellige lore written in a dialect that hasn’t been spoken in hundreds of years. To find a good interpreter was a nightmare; you owe me a fancy dinner and at least a new dress for my trouble. But what it revealed was absolutely fascinating!_

Triss read almost feverishly,

 

_So, here’s what seemed to have happened: for a very long time, the power of the ixa’s was revered among the Skellige inhabitants. They were practically considered to be half-gods. Then their popularity slowly wavered, as some ixa’s started abusing their power. It seems to have been trivial things, a little bit of black magic here and there, you know; that will always have non-mages wet their smallclothes. Then apparently, the last norna of the Dathmori had an entire village wiped out as her daughter was found raped and murdered by one of the villagers. That is when the people of Skellige turned to the brotherhood of mages, who had up until them enjoyed far less authority and benevolence compared to the Dathmori. I still can’t figure out what kind of magic they used to disrupt the powers of the ixa’s. The tome was very unclear, something about an animal? Anyway,_

 

Triss' jaw dropped. A sudden realization crept down her spine. She already stood as she read the last page of Yen’s letter:

 

_here comes the part that will surely be of interest to you! There is namely a prophecy, that I believe relates to the girl in your care! It says: “She who will restore the Dathmori will come with those who cannot die.”_

_Did you not tell me in your last letter that she had been taken care of by Regis? And that they together had ventured to Touissant to let her regain her strength? Well, there is more; the prophecy also says that she who will restore the Dathmori will carry “the one who comes after,” a child who apparently will rise to become the most powerful norna of all time!_

_Does this make any sense to you, Triss? Has your little protégé gone and fallen in love? Because it seems_

 

Triss didn’t finish reading the letter. “Geralt!” she yelled as she ran out from the library to find the witcher.

 

**Epilouge**

 

Descending the boat onto the wharf in Ard Skellig, a dark-haired man dressed in a black leather coat stretched out his large hand to lend a woman his support. She wore a cape neatly wrapped around her body, its hood hiding her blonde hair. Drawing it aside, she revealed cerulean eyes and a long, red scar along the left side of her face. She cast a gaze on the fortress of Kaer Trolde that loomed over the city they had just reached. Behind her, a grey-haired man with large sideburns stepped down from the bridge of the boat and came to stand beside the couple. She gave him a warm smile, and he nodded to her with a soft expression in his face. Due to her cape, no one could see how she unconsciously placed a hand on the lower part of her abdomen as the trio started walking down the pier.

 

In a few days, they would continue their travels towards Hindarsfjall. She was almost there, in the place where she needed to be.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Resonance - “the power to evoke enduring images, memories, and emotions”  
> \- is the name of the potion Geralt and Regis uses to understand why Dettlaff committed those murders in Blood and Wine. 
> 
> For this fic however, I found the word suitable because of its meaning in chemistry: “the property of having a molecular structure which cannot adequately be represented by a single structural formula but is a composite of two or more structures of higher energy.” 
> 
> When I first started writing this fic, I was afraid it would have practically no readers at all as the B&W dlc is “old” content. That is why I’m so grateful to all of you who have read, commented and given kudos to this fic. You have made me smile again and again and even brought tears to my eyes. Thank you so much!
> 
> I’m very grateful towards the people at CD Project Red for making these fantastic worlds and characters, for us fans to love and be creative around. 
> 
> [ My tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/namesonboats). 
> 
> Happy new year!
> 
> Love,  
> S


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